


lend me a hand, fall into my arms

by trackfive



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anxiety, Caretaking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exhaustion, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Injuries, Panic Attacks, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Relationships, Recreational Drug Use, Sickfic, background Larry, cw/tw used on individual chapters, healthy male friendships!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:28:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28822227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trackfive/pseuds/trackfive
Summary: after ten years together, they've seen it all. from the beginning to the end, whether together or apart, there's nothing they wouldn't do for each other.here's ten times the boys leaned on each other, ten favors returned, and five times they worked together to help each other get by.
Relationships: Harry Styles & Louis Tomlinson, Liam Payne & Harry Styles, Liam Payne & Louis Tomlinson, Niall Horan & Louis Tomlinson, Niall Horan & Zayn Malik, Niall Horan & Zayn Malik & Liam Payne & Harry Styles & Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik & Harry Styles, Zayn Malik & Liam Payne, Zayn Malik & Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 54
Kudos: 51





	1. a flair for the dramatic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> leaving niall and louis alone together is just asking for trouble. leaving a _sick _niall and louis alone together is somehow worse. or...better? depends on whether or not you enjoy a trip to the theatre.__

“How’re you feelin’ today, my sweet Irish prince?”

Halfway into the small bus kitchen, Niall jumped. He must have walked right past Louis laying on the mini-sofa, phone held precariously in both hands above his face as he scrolled.

“Christ, give a man a heart attack why don’t ya?”

Louis apologized unconvincingly and shifted upright, trading his phone for a steaming mug on the table in front of him. He gave Niall a once-over, taking in his sleepy eyes, poorly tamed bedhead, and left cheek warmed-up pink from its long rest on his pillow.

“Doing much better actually.” The moment Niall said the words, a tickle set up camp deep in his throat. He ducked into his elbow as he cleared it away, visibly annoyed. “Don’t think I’ll ever shake this cough.”

Louis gave him a sympathetic nod and sniffled lightly behind his tea.

“Poor lad. I’ll be right by your side on that one,” he coughed into the back of his wrist. The steaming drink set his nose running, so he set it down and stretched toward the counter, managing to tear away a sheet of kitchen roll.

“Ah shit, you caught my cold. Louis, I’m so sorry,” his face fell, but Louis waved away the apology before fixing up his nose.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. Nothing I haven’t had before, right?”

“But y’didn’t _have_ to have this.”

A little hum told Niall that he agreed, but there wasn’t any bitterness behind it.

“Eh, it happens. Don’ beat yourself up, love. Shit’s going ‘round lately anyway, so,” his sentence faded as a tickle burned through his nose, but pressing his knuckles underneath it kept the feeling at bay. He continued on with a deep sniff. “matter of time. Maybe I wanted to join your party!”

Niall scoffed and played with a thread on his shirt to avoid meeting Louis’ face.

“Nah, mate, think about it. Havin’ a lie-down on those fantastic bunk mattresses for hours, the lads answerin’ the same interview questions thirty times while the big shots give us two a break, not to mention the exquisite sore throat - you didn’t tell me how much fun I was missing!”

“As if they’d ever,” it was mumbled, but Louis could tell his joke got a little smile.

“Damn it, thought you wouldn’t see through that one.” Louis beckoned him over with an outstretched arm.

Niall ripped another sheet off the kitchen roll before he sat and handed it to Louis. “Too bad, Tommo. But uh…thanks for keeping an eye on me, mate.”

Trying futilely to alleviate his congestion, Louis just nodded, his kind eyes looking up over the makeshift tissue.

Louis might not be everyone’s go-to man on a sick day, but when he was needed he pulled out all the stops in his own little way. He was exactly what Niall wanted when he was a bit off-colour - casual caretaking in the form of waking up to a bottle of paracetamol and a silly note on the shelf of his bunk, lozenges slipped into his hand during press junkets when his own stash ran out, a blanket thrown over him as he napped in the lounge while they sped off to do the same old things in a brand new place.

Making a whole production out of a bug that did nothing but slow him down some and make his head a bit stuffy would be ridiculous, and it seemed that Louis felt the same. He would still invite Niall to watch a movie or two on the bus’ fuzzy television, talk his ear off at breakfast, and beg him for help when his hair _just_ _won’t stay up Niall pleeease fix it for me you’re so much better at it,_ but he had subtle tricks to get him off his feet that Niall didn’t recognize until he found himself resting in bed. If Louis was needed he was there, but he never hovered…unless it was Harry.

“Got an idea. How’re you feelin’ today, Ni?”

“Uhh, already told you? It’s a lot be-”

“No Nialler, I mean…how are you _feeling_?” When he lit up with a mischievous grin, Niall knew he was in for a treat. “Isn’t it just _awful_? I'd bet anything that y’need _one more day_ to fight it off.”

“Ah,” he smiled conspiratorially, “Lou, how’d you know? I think another day’s rest would do me wonders. Can barely stand on my own two feet,” Niall keeled over dramatically onto Louis’ lap, the latter whipping out his poshest voice.

“Niall, wake up! Oh dear, you’re ever so poorly. And now that I’ve been infected,” he gave a forced cough, not that it took much effort to fake, “I reckon I should be the one to watch over your sickbed. If we don’t rest, the history books will read tragically: ‘ _Misters Louis Tomlinson and Niall Horan, Six-Feet Under In The Middle Of…’_ he interrupted his cadence with a hand in the air and unlocked his phone, tapping away to check their location, ‘ _Milwaukee’._ ”

“I do believe it’s the only logical decision. Shall we fetch one of our dear brothers to inform him of our condition?” Niall had followed suit, swapping out Irish for English.

“Never fear, darling, for I shall call upon my ever-doting sweetheart. OI HAZ! GET OVER’ERE BABE!” Yelling didn’t do his throat any favors, but it was either that or getting up to search for him.

In came Harry, towel-drying his hair and dressed only in his pants.

“Lou, I _told_ you to rest up before we head off. I leave you for ten minutes so I could sh…” he trailed off when he lifted his head from the towel, “…ower?” His expression went from annoyance to utter confusion. Niall had fully draped himself over Louis, arms splayed out, and Louis held his hand to his forehead in the manner of a swooning Austen woman.

“Oh my dearest, my sweet cherub, the only love of my life, thank heavens you’re here. I regret to inform you that young Mr Horan and I have taken ill.” Whatever Harry expected to walk in on, it surely wasn’t that. His jaw was comically slack as he wrapped the towel around his waist and tried to comprehend the scene in front of him.

“We’re devastatingly ill, Sir Styl- _ow, what ya do that for!_ My apologies, Sir Tomlinson,” he corrected following a loud smack from Louis. They were _husbands_ now. Real, actual, capital-H _Husbands_ \- courthouse papers and everything - and Louis wouldn’t let anyone forget it.

“We shall wind up bedridden lest you gentlemen attend this afternoon’s events without the pleasure of our company,” Louis sounded straight out of Eton and it took everything in Niall to hold in his laughter.

Though initially shocked to come across them…the Queens of England?…slumped theatrically over each other in the room, Harry caught on quickly. He raised his eyebrows and the smallest smirk graced his lips.

“I was under the impression that it’s ‘just a cold’, your majesty,” he played along, thoroughly amused, taking on an accent himself and bending in an elegant curtsy. Harry didn’t question Niall’s involvement in the scheme. Surely he knew about his cold already - seeing his _husband_ come back from the shop with a bag of sick-person things while healthy himself would have raised a few questions.

“If only, Sir Tomlinson,” Niall stopped to cough. “Alas, that which plagues me has spread to ravage your lover’s delicate body,” he lamented, breath shaking with the urge to laugh.

“Please, my sweet, every move is agony. I fear that we are terminal!”

Niall lost it. His face went tomato-red as sounds somewhere between laughing and coughing tore out of him. Louis dragged him up from his sprawl and sat him up against his chest. Harry rolled his eyes at their continued giggles, but his smile was all love.

“Alright, alright.” They calmed their coughing laughs down to listen. “How poorly can you sound? Y’have to be convincing over the phone.”

Niall sneezed into steepled hands before Harry had even finished speaking, as if on cue. Louis, whose cold was still in the works, took advantage of his normally raspy voice to sound far more ill than he was.

“Gross.” The sickies high-fived at their success. “Cough enough in their direction and maybe they’ll sit you out on press. _Maybe_.” Harry leaned over the low table and dropped a peck on Niall’s forehead, just to tease Louis. He enjoyed watching his husband get all riled up for a moment before curing his jealousy with a long, tender kiss that Niall fake gagged over.

“I’ll go tell the others and bring you back some _real_ tissues…or did you want to give them your little performance as well.”

Niall and Louis exchanged a glance, and Harry shook his head.

“Can’t believe you two.”

They heard him call for Liam and Zayn as he walked away down the hall.


	2. half-four, halfway to the floor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> turns out the easiest way to forget your nightmares is to comb back your bandmate's hair while he hangs over the toilet. liam wouldn't rank it among his top ten mornings, but at least he got to bond with harry.
> 
> cw: non-graphic descriptions of vomiting

When Liam padded out into the back lounge, he expected it to be empty. Nobody was ever awake before dawn, so he always had a quiet place to sit and watch the streetlamps fly by when strange dreams stole his sleep for good. It came as a shock when someone rustled on his usual spot, staring at the ground with his arms wrapped around his middle. Liam stopped in his tracks a few feet away.

"Hey, Harry. Didn't expect I'd have company back here.”

“Sorry.” Harry’s voice was flat, quiet.

“Y’know it’s half-four. Why’re you up at this hour, mate?”

“Why’re you?” Harry mumbled back, not answering Liam.

“Couldn’t sleep I guess.”

“Sorry.”

There was nothing at all ‘Harry’ about the way he was speaking, and curiosity turned to concern as Liam got closer. Moonlight peeking through the windows highlighted the sheen of sweat on Harry’s forehead and his unblinking eyes were weighed down by heavy purple shadows.

“Happens a lot, I’m okay. But…you’re not, are you?”

“No.” A tear slipped down the almost-dried trail on his cheek when his eyes closed. Liam sat at his side and placed a gentle hand on his knee.

“Looks like you’ve got an upset stomach, yeah?”

“Mm.”

“Have you been sick yet?”

He screwed his eyes shut tight in what was either pain or fear, Liam couldn’t tell. All he did was sniffle as he lost a few more tears. Liam sighed and put an arm around his shoulders and gave a careful squeeze, feeling little movements as Harry continued to cry lightly. He wasn't quite sure how to comfort him in this state - he'd only seen him truly ill once before, and Louis had shouldered most of that experience - but he was determined to try nonetheless.

“I’m sorry you’re not well, H. Do you want me to go wake Lo-” Harry’s breath stopped in his throat and he turned on Liam with wide, fearful eyes.

“No. No, please don’t. He can’t see me like this, Liam, he just can’t. _Please_.”

"Didn't he sit by your sickbed for like, half a week?"

Harry's sudden illness while they prepared for one of their X Factor performances just a few months ago was a memory that Liam wouldn't call 'fond' per se, but it marked a huge bonding moment for the newly-formed group. It was after that week's show that he and Louis started to butt heads a little less, and he and Niall had a story to tell in the form of sneaking out of the house via their third floor window at one in the morning for an urgent cough-syrup related mission. They hopped from balcony to balcony until they hit the ground and if ever they were asked how they made it back up...sheer force of will. And _maybe_ a little help from the flimsy ropes they bought at the 24-hour Tesco they passed on the way back, whipping them up at Zayn, balanced precariously on the roof below their window.

"Yeah but, that wasn't, um, I wasn't ...it's just different. Please don't, Li."

He patted Harry’s arm, knowing exactly what was going through his head. He’d been there before. Harry and Louis' newly-official relationship was fun and exciting, but with it came the uncertainty of boundaries that might not have felt important when they were just mates, like holding hands in front of the band, sprinkling pet names into every conversation, and the like. Navigating the dating world can be difficult, especially when you’re barely seventeen and under the ever-present scrutiny that comes with the spotlight.

“But _I_ can? Lucky me, hit the jackpot there didn’t I,” he joked, and a grumpy look was shot his way. “I get it, you lovesick little puppy. What can I do to help you, mate?”

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but immediately closed it as his torso rocked forward with a wave of nausea.

“Shit, uh, okay. Let’s get you to the bathroom.”

With a firm hand on his back, Liam led him quickly across the bus hallway. Harry’s breaths came in ragged and he slapped a hand to his mouth, but Liam kept encouraging him _just a few steps, we’re almost there_.

Once Harry saw the toilet, it was all over. He crouched, head a bit too far above the bowl as he let his stomach go. Liam wrinkled his nose as the smell of sick reached him, but kept his hand in place on Harry’s shaking back and spoke softly. When it seemed that the poor boy had finished, he flopped his head forward, chin to chest, setting himself off-balance. He veered into Liam who grabbed him around the middle to stop them from both going down.

“Whoa there. Y’alright? Come on, love, let’s get you sat down.” Harry lowered himself fully to sit back on his heels in front of the bowl with a pitiful groan.

“Think you’re done? Or is th…fuck, okay, c’mere.”

Harry’s pale face was answer enough. Liam helped to reposition him and manoeuvred to squat between Harry and the wall. He wished there was something to keep Harry’s hair out of the way, but settled for finger-combing his fringe upward and holding it in one hand while the other rubbed slow circles into his back.

“Oh Harry, I’m so sorry. You’re okay, love.”

“Don’t,” Harry choked out between retches, “don’t ‘ave to stay.”

“Come off it, I’ve got a strong stom…oh, yeah, get it all up. There you go.”

The poor boy kept at it for another minute, stomach cramping to heave up nothing but bile. _Must not have eaten much of anything yesterday,_ Liam thought, upset with himself for not having noticed _._ Harry slowed to a stop and leaned back heavily on Liam, turning to bury his face in his bandmate’s shoulder.

“Liam,” he whimpered. The weak voice tugged at Liam’s heartstrings.

“I’m so sorry, H. You’re okay?”

“Mm. Dizzy.”

“Going to be sick again or are we in the clear?” Harry took a deep breath and let it out audibly through his nose before responding.

“I’m alright. For now. Can we…I mean, um, could _I_ …would, um…can y-…uh, will you take me to the sofa? Sorry, uh, please.”

Harry had difficulty asking for things, fearing that he would be a bother. It was something the boys had noticed from the start. He already spoke a bit slower than them, so the way he stumbled over his words and mixed in unnecessary apologies made his rambling go on even longer. Though he would get frustrated when he couldn’t get his thoughts out, the others were patient each time. As he became more comfortable it happened less, but if he was particularly upset it would slip back out.

It wasn’t hard for Liam to figure out what Harry was asking for. He would be more than happy to keep him company in the back, but they needed to see to the mess first.

“Course, lad. Let’s get fixed up, though. Will you be fine if I go set up camp out there or would you like me here?”

Liam could see Harry fidget with the bottom of his shirt while he worked up to the answer, obviously trying to bring himself out of his head.

“Would you stay, please? I’ll be…I’m okay if…I just don’t really want to be by myself and um…yeah, sorry.”

Liam squeezed his shoulders and stood carefully so as to not jostle the boy between his knees. Harry said he could handle himself, but his little voice was so strained and it was obvious he could use a bit of extra care. He was just a kid. They all were, really, but something about Harry and his dimpled cheeks, gangly limbs, that unruly hair - the others took to him right away and, as if in some unspoken pact, looked out for him. He was just a kid, and no kid should have to face the world alone - especially not while spitting stomach acid into a bus toilet thousands of miles from home.

Liam got up to quickly wipe down the area around them before he held out both hands, which Harry took. Their combined effort pulled his weary body up slowly, and Harry let Liam sit him on the toilet seat. He barely fought when a wet cloth was used to clean around his face, focusing on his mouth, to wipe away sick and sweat. Harry insisted he could stay upright for long enough to give his teeth a quick once-over and swish some mouthwash, so Liam stumbled through the dark to change his shirt and grab fresh clothes from Harry’s bag.

As Harry changed out of his dirtied pyjamas, pillows and blankets were thrown from their bunks into the lounge. Liam grabbed a small bin and some water from the kitchen. Right when he finished lowering the window shades, Harry shuffled out of the bathroom looking a little better than when Liam first found him. It took him a little longer than usual to burrow into his duvet, struggling to find a safe position for his sore stomach.

“Any better?”

“Much. Thanks, Liam.”

“No worries.” He slid the lounge door closed and plopped down among his own blankets on the couch opposite Harry’s.

“I’m sure that’s not how you wanted to spend your morning, ‘m really sorry.” His watery eyes glanced at the clock which read 5:57 AM, but Liam shrugged.

“I mean, ’s not what I expected, but no apologies, alright? Wasn’t going to leave you stranded out here, was I. And you’ll be able to get me back sometime,” he gave a tired smile, “we’re stuck with each other for a long while, mate.”

Harry laughed softly, showing the first glimpse of his normal self that whole night.

“Oh, we are,” his peaky face came back to life a bit as he hid a grin in the shadows, “but I think I’m okay with that.”

“Think I am too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it sounds crazy but reading/writing fics like this helped me a lot with my emetophobia. no idea how it worked...like exposure therapy i guess? i'm still not great with it actually happening but if i can hear someone say the words 'throwing up' without spiraling...i'm not gonna complain  
> sending you good monday energy! <3


	3. bring the party to you(r armchair)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> no matter how hard you try, you can't hide away at a tomlinson party...especially if zayn's got an eye on you.

Post-hiatus life was insane - far more intense than they’d ever imagined.

The Tomlinsons were holding what felt like the hundredth reunion party at their home. Harry was always thrilled to play host; Louis was indifferent, but offered to help set things up just so he could smile fondly at his husband’s meticulous preparation of cheese boards and wine selections.

Zayn had lost touch with his party side a few years after his split from the band. Things didn’t feel the same as he got older - parties were no longer about reckless teenage fun, but were just venues to flaunt your wealth and do a few too many lines. Only Harry’s adamant promise that they would be exponentially more tame - _because if anyone ruins my dining room table Zayn I swear I’ll lose my shit, I don’t even care who it is -_ was enough to coax him into attending which ** _,_** to his credit, he did every time.

From his understanding, Liam seemed to be of a similar mindset. He left his appetite for hard liquor in the past and preferred floating between groups to chat with a beer in hand. No less charming than before, but far more steady on his feet. Tonight was different, at least it seemed that way to Zayn. Liam had been relatively quiet the whole night, only chiming in with hums of agreement, nods, and small laughs with forced smiles. It was obvious that something was up, but he hadn’t yet gotten Liam alone and he wasn’t about to put him on the spot in front of a group. Zayn wasn’t sure how the others hadn’t noticed - Liam was always there with a witty quip or comeback, but today there was nothing.

He swore Liam had just been by the bar with Niall, but now he was nowhere to be found. Excusing himself from his group, Zayn took a walk around the massive ground floor to find his friend. Now seemed as good a time as any to talk with him. Searching the ridiculous number of rooms took a minute, but a once-over of the secluded recording space revealed the top of Liam’s head. He was sat all alone and barely visible over the back of a ridiculously oversized armchair.

Not wanting to startle him, Zayn knocked on the doorframe, but Liam didn’t react. Unsure if he was being ignored or just wasn’t heard, he chose to enter. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a sharp breath, audible even from his distance. Liam’s body rocked with the force of his sneeze -it was muffled politely in his elbow, but it sounded awful. Two stopped-up sniffs followed before he pulled his arm away and noticed his company.

“Oh, hey Z. ‘M so sorry.” He let out a tired sigh and fixed himself up, sniffling and swiping his wrist under his nose a few times.

“ _Bless_ , _”_ Zayn said, worming his way into the other half of the chair. “That doesn’t sound too good, mate. D’you think you might b-“

“Yeah, I’m getting a bit of a cold. Sorry. I’ll be right back,” Liam cut him off, not unkindly, but as though he was a bit unhappy to be having the conversation. He stood up, clearly trying to hide his blushing cheeks as he left the room.

After hearing his voice, Zayn understood why Liam had kept quiet - it was so obviously taken over by illness that he’d be found out right off the bat. But why was he so worried about being _found out_? With the number of times they’d all taken care of each other on tour throughout the years, Zayn thought he wouldn’t be so uncomfortable. If Liam was worried about what they’d say if he hung around, there was absolutely no need for it.

Back in their touring days, the guys weren’t usually the type to stay clear when one among them wasn’t feeling up to par. Knowing they couldn’t really avoid the germs, they didn’t bother to change their behavior, save for being a little more liberal with physical affection. They always said if getting a cold was what it took to get Harry’s magic back rubs, they’d have to get sneezed on more often. After all the bugs they’d seen each other through, there wasn’t much fanfare for it anymore.

Zayn heard Liam’s stifle from the hallway as he made his way back. The man seemed to have collected himself a bit, looking less pink in the cheeks than when he’d left. He avoided meeting Zayn’s eyes as he moved to settle on the sofa across the room.

“Oi,” Zayn called out to him with mock offense, “where d’ya think you’re goin’?”

Liam gave him a sheepish look and tapped the side of his nose _._

“Li,” he rolled his eyes, “s’it look like I give a fuck? Get over’ere.”

Something in his eyes must have broken Liam’s determination, so he shuffled over. Once he’d settled, Zayn put his hand over the one Liam had resting on his own leg.

“Mate, you doin’ alright? ‘Cause I certainly don’ remember you being this shy ‘bout a little cold before.”

Liam seemed to wilt as he breathed out a measured sigh.

“Jus’,” he stopped to clear his throat, “just a bit embarrassed is all.”

“There’s no need. We take care f’each other, right? Remember how many times y’held my hair back in a bus toilet? Or Louis’? We all played nurse for H ‘bout every three weeks, didn’t we.”

“Yes, but it’s just…different now. Like, we aren’t driving ‘round the world working ourselves into the ground anymore. I’m just…” he rubbed a finger below his nose as he sniffed, “We’re not nineteen and cooped up on the bus. Been off working on our own projects for a while now - real adults, real lives…sorta. Everyone’s got all their things to do, and I just thought that maybe things have-“ he pinched an almost silent sneeze, “Have changed. So sorry,” he apologized as he dealt with the shift in congestion.

“Bless. That’s real sweet, babe, but like, ’s not like that. Here’s how it’ll go, right,” he holds up his index finger, “Lou will get all weird and protective with H ‘cos the asthma and that but,” a second finger goes up, “he won’t win that fight.” A third finger. “Can’t keep Niall away. Boy’s so _touchy_. Second he hears you’re unwell he latches on, always claimed he was ‘the cure for everything’, didn’t he?” he smiled before putting up his pinky. “And y’got me ‘ere already, so. That’s that.”

Liam’s chest shook with a silent laugh, mirroring Zayn’s smile.

“So what d’you say we get our mates over ‘ere, yeah? It’ll be fine, love,” he assured when Liam sucked in his bottom lip, apprehensive.

“Guess that’d be alright.” An uncharacteristic waver peeked out from behind his congested voice.

“Want me to tell ‘em you’re not feelin’ 100%? Make sure they don’t slam you with questions and the like?”

“That’d be nice, yeah. Thanks, Z.” He pinched his nose again as his head bobbed forward.

“Course. Be back soon, I’ll bring you a drink. And, Liam?”

“Hm?”

“Stop holding ‘em in. Sounds like it hurts.”

Needless to say, Liam went tomato red.

It wasn’t all too difficult to figure out who Zayn had found first. Not even five minutes after he left, Harry came waltzing through the doorway with rosy cheeks to match his own, but from a very different cause.

Trying but failing to seem casual, he perched himself on the arm of Liam’s chair and told him all about how he couldn’t _believe_ he hadn’t thought to escape the action sooner, using far too many hand gestures to be convincingly sober. Louis appeared a minute later, face a mixture of mild exasperation with Harry, as Zayn had predicted, but mostly poorly-hidden concern for Liam as he settled on the ground. Neither one brought it up, however. They simply talked, not forcing Liam to join in the conversation but giving him the space to if he desired.

Niall’s entrance was far less tactful. He practically threw himself over the chair to claim the spot next to Liam. It was a tight fit, so he took to tangling their limbs together.

“Zayn says you’re ill?”

“Niall, lad, that was the _one_ thing you _weren’t_ supposed to say.” Louis pinched the bridge of his nose, but there was a smile behind his voice.

“Tha’s on you, Tommo. Let me head up the bar, didn’t ya? Had a few drinks on the job.” He lolled his head onto Liam’s shoulder and patted his chest sloppily in what was intended to be a caring gesture. “Y’good?”

“Mhm, bit under the weather. Fuck, sorry.” His sinuses burned sharply, but with Harry on his left and Niall cuddled in on the right, he had no choice but to cup shirt-covered hands over his face and bend in on himself. To his embarrassment, there was more than one this time around. It was too painful to suppress the powerful sneezes by the end, so he had to take Zayn’s advice.

“I’m so sorry, couldn’t help it. Truly sorry.”

His words were lost in a sea of blessings from Harry and Niall who both had alcohol-warmed hands somewhere on him, and he felt Louis squeeze the top of his foot. Someone, probably Harry, dropped a pack of tissues in his lap.

**_“_** Feels better to let them out, now doesn’t it?” Zayn teased from above him. Liam looked up to see a water bottle dangling over his head, which he snatched gratefully. Quite pleased with himself, Zayn went to plop on the carpet next to Louis.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he grumbled into a tissue, still flushed and self-conscious.

“ _A bit under the weather_ , my arse,” teased Louis, flicking at Liam’s knee and getting a shove from Niall, indignant on his friend’s behalf.

“You really do sound awful, love,” Harry slipped a tipsy hand under Liam’s collar to feel his neck. “I don’t feel a fever. What d’you think, Ni?”

“Nothin’ but soft, glowing skin over here,” as he rubbed his hands on the sides of Liam’s face, scrunching his cheeks up and down. “Wha’s your routine?” He cracked himself up and Harry followed suit.

“Get away, all of you,” Liam complained, but they knew he wasn’t serious. “’S just a cold. Might head home, get some tea, let you lot get back to the fun.”

Nobody seemed ready to let Liam up. The two sharing his chair had various body parts splayed haphazardly over him, and Zayn and Louis were leaned up in front of him, leaving practically no room to stand even if he tried.

They dropped off to sleep one by one within the hour. Harry still sat on the arm of the chair, but leaned onto the back cushion with his legs stretched across the mess that was Liam and Niall. Louis, the only one still awake, was supported on either side by various legs and had Zayn’s head in his lap.

Though the party was in their honor, the guys didn’t seem all too concerned about missing out and the guests were unaware of, or unbothered by, their hosts’ disappearance. They weren’t spotted until the end of the night when Lottie peeked around the door. Louis raised a finger to his lips and shook his head, urging her to leave them be. By two, she slipped back in, smiled fondly, and whispered to Louis that the house was cleared out. She had a spare key to lock up and promised to close the front gate so Louis wouldn’t have to worry. With a kiss on her cheek and whispered goodbyes, the Tomlinson home went silent.

He wondered if he should get up to tidy the kitchen, knowing Harry would have a heart attack the next morning if he woke to find abandoned cups and chairs not tucked away, but the thought was fleeting. A wave of nostalgia went through Louis’ heart as he looked around. They had all aged more than a decade since the first time they shared a cuddle, but in sleep the men looked younger. _How stupid must we look,_ he thought, _a bunch of almost thirty-year-old men sleeping all over each other like a litter of puppies,_ but he wasn’t about to wake his mates.

Returning to One Direction, to _this_ , was like a dream. Never in a thousand years had he expected to walk away from X Factor with three best mates, three _brothers_ , and his future husband by his side, all at age eighteen. Getting up from his spot meant waking his little family, and he wasn’t about to let go of this sweet moment. Deep, even breaths surrounded him as he closed his eyes, hands still buried in Zayn’s hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i turned 21 today and it didn't live up to the hype since i can't go out to celebrate :( i knew it would be disappointing so a few weeks ago i bought a floral suit and tailored it so i could have a photoshoot on my fire escape! major harry vibes!! i did it with my roommate tonight and just saw the photos...i look terrible in all of them :)(: not to get all sad lol but i finally found an outfit that makes me feel like ~me~ but my face is awful! idk man it's been eight years of working on my gender identity and i still can't get anything right ahaha  
> but really sorry for being sad!! i'm about to drink some spiked hot chocolate <3 much love as always


	4. let's get out of here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> stage lights won't help harry get through a migraine, and neither will louis unless he gets his shit together.
> 
> (platonic larry where they're both pining and so ridiculously oblivious)

Though it had been weeks, the boys still weren’t used to the stage. Judge’s house? Easy. Laying on the floor, any floor would do, and divvying up bits of their favorite songs - “ _c'mon Liam I want to take the Iron Maiden part”_ \- that was no problem. Getting up on that enormous stage? Rather intimidating.

It wasn’t just stage-fright that took them over. Of course nerves played a part, but their biggest fears seemed to live in the speakers. When they were in close quarters, harmonizing was effortless. A ridiculously large space like the one surrounding the empty stage was a completely different animal. They had to strain to hear themselves and each other over the blasting of the backing track, and adjusting a wonky pitch was just that much more difficult when every lagging echo from the speakers screamed back at them.

No matter how much they whinged and moaned about it, the five boys were constantly dragged to rehearse on-location. Hardly any of the time there was actually spent on the stage, which made them complain even more about how pointless it was. More often than not they were shoved off into some room since they couldn’t _behave, boys, you really need to take this seriously_.

Singing usually seemed to take a backseat to blocking, which was the most important thing in the world to whoever it was that ordered them around that day. It was a bit ridiculous; all the time they spent learning where and how to stand could have been used to rehearse, but no. Instead they got an hour of being told to _move over there. No a bit to the right. No. Niall, to the left. Stop, back a bit, no! Not that far, are you even listening?_ They weren’t performing in West End for the Queen, it was just some empty soundstage where they stood in a line to sing - what they were _actually_ there to do. To be fair, it definitely would have been the end of the entire world if Zayn walked two centimeters too far during the live taping. Society might never have recovered from a blow like that.

There was a lot of watching and waiting while dozens of people who looked important, but most definitely weren’t, stomped around. Today, those people included a pair of exhaustingly passionate vocal coaches who insisted that they actually utilize the space to get a feel for it before the performance. A fair point for sure, but none of them were excited to have hot, over-bright lights blaring in their eyes for hours.

Most particularly upset was Louis. He could deal with the light, he would live without a chair, but he couldn’t handle the look on Harry’s face. The lack of a look, more like. He stared around completely devoid of expression. If a coach addressed him, he only raised his eyebrows to indicate that he was listening whereas he would usually nod along eagerly, taking pages of notes in his head. Not frustrated, not tired - he was just blank. That didn’t sit right with Louis.

The moment the boys were granted a break, Harry headed straight for the door. Curious about the strange behavior, Louis followed a few strides ahead of the others to catch up with him. When the doors to the hall opened, he caught sight of a purple hoodie leaving the building.

Louis was never great at being casual with his emotions - everyone back home wore their hearts on their sleeves more often than not, so being subtle wasn’t second nature. Harry threw him off his rhythm. Would he appreciate that directness? What if it drove him away? Never in Louis’ life had he questioned himself like this, but he _really_ cared what Harry thought of him. Because they were friends. They were _friends_ and he cared about his friends’ opinions. That was all.

That _wasn’t_ all.

That wasn’t all and he knew it.

When all of the lines that ran between them were squiggly and blurred, it was hard to know if he was crossing one, overstepping a boundary or hitting a sore spot. They were just bandmates…and friends… _and_ they split a bunk bed in the room they boys took over for the final weeks of the competition. From the moment they crashed into each other they were magnetized. No matter where they went they wound up in the same room, crossing paths in the hallway, knocking elbows and feet on doorframes while they slipped past each other, meeting eyes instead of watching their step, or…

He felt lucky to make such a _great_ _friend_.

A friend who rendered him completely and utterly powerless.

Louis doubled back for his jacket. Harry’s was still on the hook as well, so he grabbed it. Why the hell he hadn’t brought it himself was a mystery as it couldn’t have been much more than a lovely zero degrees out there.

The cold air was refreshing for a moment, but it grew bitter almost immediately. Harry was crazy, standing outside coatless with his hands balled into his sleeves, but Louis couldn’t help the smile that settled on his face. Everyone who met Harry seemed to have the same reaction. There was something about him that was so universally endearing. He was a nice boy: so friendly, so talented, lovely hair, beautiful eyes, perfect body…no.

That _wasn’t_ why.

He just _knew_ it.

No. It wasn’t time to think about that again. But there was nothing to think about -it should be easy to not think about something that was nothing because if it wasn’t anything there would be nothing to think about. _Right?_

Harry was leaned up against the brick wall, head tilted back to catch the winter sun on his face, but his floppy hood blocked the light from his eyes and wind from his ears. Not wanting to startle him, Louis made sure to scuff his boots along the ground to make himself known. The boy cracked his eyes open and lifted his head from its lean. A closed-lip smile sent butterflies through Louis’ stomach.

“Hi Lou.”

“Hey Curly. ’S a bit cold to be without a jacket, innit?” He raised the arm that Harry’s coat was slung over.

“Oh, yeah. Had to get out of that place. Just…got too hot. Thank you.” He slipped it on but didn’t do up the zip, just fixed his eyes on it.

Louis nervously filled the silence that fell between them, putting all of his effort into keeping the tone light.

“This shit’s taking ages, right? Like, I love Rihanna as much as the next guy, but how many times can we run this before we go off the deep end?”

Normally, Harry would laugh and Louis would swell with pride. Harry laughed at every one of his jokes, no matter how awful. This time he just grinned before adjusting his hood and tipping his head back again. He shuddered and folded his arms over his chest to defend against the cold.

“Hey,” Louis touched his arm to get his attention back, “you’re not yourself today. What’s goin’ on?”

Half a minute passed with only the whistling of the wind to accompany them, but Louis didn’t speak. He wanted to give Harry time, hoping he would get an answer to his question.

“Got a bit of a headache,” Harry mumbled, “but ’s not a big deal.”

“Ah, poor thing. Bet those lights aren’t much help either, hm?”

“It’s fine,” he snapped, nostrils flaring.

Never had Louis heard a tone like that come from Harry. He wasn’t sure if he should brush it off or take it personally. Obviously he leaned toward the latter and got caught up in his head again.

It was the same cycle as before. He didn’t want to push because what if that was too much? But leaving him alone could seem insensitive. The Doncaster in him wanted to call the kid on his bullshit, but there was something else in him, something unfamiliar, which hesitated. Not knowing where the lines were was killing him, but one Harry-related boundary he was sure about was touch.

Both boys exchanged occasional touches with all of their mates, but it seemed they were always resting a hand on each other. It was never anything more than platonic, but there was an energy between them that suggested otherwise. Neither of them noticed that they began sitting closer together or mirroring the other. _They_ didn’t notice, but the guys did. It was far too obvious to miss - when Louis sang, Harry stared dreamily before tearing his eyes away and blushing. Louis was guilty of the same. If they started betting on when the two pining idiots would finally get together…Harry and Louis never had to know.

When it came to Harry, touch was something he knew. Louis didn’t second-guess his next move; he was about to walk a bridge that was long since crossed. Undeterred by Harry’s snippy attitude, Louis did what he did best.

“C’mere.”

He unwound Harry’s crossed arms and wrapped them around himself before gently pulling the shaky body in. Almost immediately, Louis could feel the limp arms encompassing him actually grab hold as Harry gave in to the affection. He dropped his head to Louis’ shoulder and sighed.

“How much longer until we’re done?” Harry murmured into Louis’ neck, sending a massive shiver down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

“Just over an hour I think. Should be done ‘round four.”

Harry’s resigned, drawn-out sigh puffed hot breath on Louis’ skin, driving him mad. As much as he didn’t want to, he knew they had to break the contact. Louis put a hand on the back of Harry’s head to show his sympathy, applying the lightest pressure that let him hold Harry just that much closer before easing the boy out of his grasp. “‘M so sorry, Harry. Gonna make it?”

The look on Harry’s face unequivocally said no, but he gave a thumbs up.

—

Time dragged on slower than ever and Louis could see Harry’s batteries draining. He kept digging his thumb into a spot on his left eyebrow that made Louis want nothing more than to scoop him up and tuck him in bed, but they weren’t back in the house with a soft duvet and quiet bedroom.

And they weren’t _together_.

That was a boyfriend’s job and they were just _friends_.

Each of the boys noticed Harry’s distress and tried to talk to him. Louis noticed Harry smiling and trying to animate himself, but the way it slid off his face once the eyes were off him was more than pitiable. He would never say it aloud, but knowing that Harry hadn’t faked anything around him made Louis feel quite special.

All he could do was watch on sadly as Harry wilted a little more with every passing minute. The second they were released for the day, Harry stopped leaning on the microphone stand and trudged over to his things. As Louis was packing up, Liam elbowed him in the ribs.

“So uh, he alright? Looks a bit peaky to me.” He nodded in the direction of Harry, whose back was rising and falling with what looked to be deliberate breaths while he knelt to search through his bag.

“Hm? Eh, yeah, I…” Louis wasn’t sure why Harry seemed hesitant to share it with the guys, so he kept it vague, “jus' needs to get out of ‘ere, I think. Why’d you ask me?”

“Because you’re…wait, are you not together?” Liam backpedaled hurriedly, “No, wait - I mean, that you hang around each other a lot. And since, uh, we thought you might be, uh…that you’d know if something’s off.”

Louis was taken aback. There was no time to react before Liam had felt the need to explain himself which _wasn’t necessary_ because they _weren’t together_. Apparently Liam’s energy was contagious, because Louis stumbled over his words as well.

“Yeah I mean, we uh,” he cleared his throat, messing with his fringe to hide the blush spreading across his entire face, “I guess we spend a good bit of time together. It’s…he’s a good lad.”

“Hold on, wait - do you not _know_?” Liam’s whole demeanor changed - he cocked his head, one eyebrow slightly raised. “Oh, you _really_ don’t know. Haven’t figured it out yet, have you?” He craned his neck to catch Niall and Zayn’s eyes.

“Wha’re you on about?”

“Oh, just…you know what,” Liam was far too entertained by Louis’ bewilderment.

“Di- wait. Did Harry say something to you? ” Blood running cold, he didn’t know exactly what he wanted Liam’s answer to be.

“No, no. Not at all, my poor, sweet Louis.”

“Doesn’t have to say it though, does he.” Niall chimed in, making Louis jump; he and Zayn had collected their things and came to snoop on them unabashedly. “Open book, that one.”

“I know you lot are jus' takin’ the piss ‘cos I don’t have a cha-“

“Can it, Tomlinson.” Zayn cut him off as he fiddled with his coat’s stubborn zip. Keeping his voice low, he wasn’t joking around anymore. “He’s breakin’ my heart over there. Don’ know wha’s going on but…go on.” He shoved Louis forward with far too much force considering how gentle he had just been, causing his trainers to leave a streak on the polished floor.

“Alright, fuckin’…‘m going. But w-“

“Figure it out, mate. ’S not too hard,” Liam was clearly laughing at him, but his voice went soft. "We'll keep away from the room for a while, give him...and _you_ some space." 

As much as he wanted to slap the self-satisfied looks off their faces, there were more important matters to attend to. Harry was sat against the wall, legs bent up to rest his head on his knees. Louis squatted in front of him and ghosted a hand on his back.

“C’mon, love.”

Harry turned his head to look at him, face filled with the utmost…appreciation? Fondness? Affection? Was this...was _this_ what Niall was getting at?

_No._ Not now.

He had plenty of time to work through _that_ later.

After extending a hand to help Harry up and hiking both of their bags onto his shoulder, they were set to go. That same hand from before had steadied Harry’s lower back when he stumbled over his own feet, and Louis just knew the guys watched the whole thing go down. He took one last look over his shoulder - Niall was blowing dramatic kisses at him while Zayn and Liam made hand hearts and mouthed silent catcalls. Louis bit his lip, trying not to smile as he flipped the idiots off.

—

Neither of them flicked the light switch when they entered their place - the tiny sitting room's windows let in enough of the fading evening light for them to see. Louis held Harry’s hand in both of his own when he spoke for the first time since they left, but only for a moment.

“You go rest, I’ll handle dinner.”

“ _Please_ don’t cook,” Harry said under his breath, clearly well enough to dole out a few insults.

“Oi, rude! I meant takeaway and you know it.” Louis followed up his nearly-whispered indignation with a light punch that was more like stroking the back of his knuckles against Harry’s arm.

Just as quickly as the moment came, it went. Seconds later, Harry caved in on himself as a crippling pain shot through his skull. A violently trembling hand rose to push a thumb into his brow again. Nobody moved. Louis was at a complete loss, not sure how to help. He could have been a fish with the way his mouth hung open as he watched.

Louis wasn’t sure how long they were frozen like that, but it couldn’t have been more than a minute as the breath Harry had been holding came rushing out. His hand lowered but his eyes stayed closed for a beat longer.

“Gon’ have a shower,” Harry mumbled and shuffled off, shoes still on.

“Good idea, Curly. Warm up some, yeah?”

His own voice sounded far away. Even after Harry had disappeared, he was stuck in place. It wasn’t like the boy had just collapsed in front of him or anything, but seeing such intense pain mar his face - his _sixteen-year-old_ face - was jarring. It was the way his hands shook, how he didn’t make a sound or shed a tear, just brushed it off as though it hadn’t happened. There’s nothing Louis wouldn’t do to trade places with his Harry, with…

_…his_ Harry.

No. His _friend_ , Harry.

Louis needed a minute to recover from the knife he took to the heart.

Fifteen more minutes passed without hearing the sound of the shower. Of course Louis was concerned, but it wasn’t his place to barge in, or was it?

—

Louis was back with their food in less than half an hour. He debated putting Harry’s in the fridge, but figured it would be best to ask first. Getting a little something in him might help, but it had the potential to make things exponentially worse.

Calling Harry’s name just loud enough to be heard in the bedroom didn’t help. He was met with nothing but silence.

Harry always seemed so put together, older than his years - he could handle himself. They all often forgot he was only sixteen. _Sixteen_ and away from home. _Sixteen_ and in debilitating pain all alone. Sick of debating all day with his anxious inner monologue, Louis taped its mouth shut and went to check on Harry.

The door was already slightly open, but he knocked lightly. His fingers gave just enough force to swing it open fully, revealing Harry. He was curled up on the bottom bunk - on _Louis'_ bed - in a ball above his blankets - above _Louis'_ blankets - with wet boots staining the duvet and an arm over his face to block out the light that snuck through the sides of the window hangings.

“Oh, Harry,” Louis had never been quieter in his life. He padded over and laid the gentlest hand on Harry’s side. “Come out from there for me?”

Not a sound came from Harry, but Louis knew he wasn’t asleep from the way he was breathing - shallow and slightly erratic. He let out a long, slow sigh before weighing his options. He could leave Harry be, telling him he was out in the front if he needed anything. He could leave without saying anything at all. Or he could stay.

It wasn’t a hard decision.

Louis slid himself onto the cramped single bed, not jostling the mattress. He sat by Harry’s head, and when there was no protest he planned his next move. Ever so carefully, he buried his hands in slightly tangled hair and rubbed at Harry’s scalp with his fingertips. Harry pushed up into the touch but still didn’t say a word. Louis continued to work his hands through his favorite curls in silence.

After a few minutes, Harry groaned in pain and Louis froze. He took his hands away and was trying to formulate some kind of silent apology when Harry shifted upward. His face came to rest against him - Harry replaced the arm covering his eyes with Louis’ leg, making his heart skip a dozen beats. Louis was immensely grateful that his concern far outweighed the fact that Harry was facedown on his thigh, mere centimeters from the zip on his jeans.

“How can I help, love?”

“Don’move.” The whisper was barely audible, mouth smushed into Louis.

Harry didn’t have to ask twice, Louis wouldn’t dare. Their pasta would surely go cold and his back was already starting to hurt from where it leaned up against the ladder, but no way in hell was he going to deny that request. It was getting more and more difficult to sweep away his feelings and, from the ruthless schoolyard teasing the lads subjected him to earlier, it looked like Harry just might be on the same page.

For all the confidence he had, this was a move he was terrified to make. He didn’t know what they were. He wasn’t sure what would happen, if anything, between them. All he knew was that Harry needed a shoulder to lean on, or a leg to sleep on, right now. Even if _this_ was all they would ever be, Louis thought he could live with that. Anything that kept those dimples in his life was alright by him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just can't get over the fact that x factor harry is the same person as long hair harry? you can't look me in the eyes and tell me sweet little baby harry and tattoo roulette harry are the same bc it's just not the truth!!!


	5. peach and flower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> spending the early hours of the morning crossfaded and cuddling on a hotel balcony - it was a tried and true method for getting louis and zayn through a rough night, but nothing gold can stay
> 
> cw: smoking, mentions of alcohol, terribly written accents

“Zayn! Cancel your plans for tonight…c’mon, open up!” Louis pounded on the door to Zayn’s hotel suite.

A minute or so of more knocking passed before the chain clattered and the door swung open, revealing the sound of a running shower and his incredibly unimpressed bandmate. Zayn had a towel barely slung around his waist and his entire body was dripping wet.

“Cancel your plans for tonight.”

“Yeah, mate, I fuckin’ heard you the first time.”

“Good.” Louis tried to force himself into the room.

“Oi Tommo, ‘m kinda busy here.”

“Don’t care. _You_ are goin' to get me high off my arse,” his tone was playful, but the look in his eyes said otherwise, “and _I_ brought vodka.”

“ _Cheap_ vodka,” he made a face at the ‘Smirnoff’ emblazoned on the front.

“Fancy shit won’t get us all good an’ fucked up, sweetheart. Here,” he slammed the bottle into Zayn’s bare chest and pushed him out of the way, “it’s peach. You’ll love it.”

Zayn’s frustration was short-lived. He figured out why Louis had come, and he wasn’t about to turn him away.

“Right, well. _I’m_ gonna get the shampoo out my eyes, and _you_ go make yourself useful and roll up.”

—

Their legs dangled through spaces in the balcony rail as they passed a joint back and forth. The liquor sat abandoned just out of reach, and the ceramic soap dish from the bathroom made a perfect ashtray. Louis had moved the all-weather table and chairs inside, replacing them with every pillow in the room. It was comfortable in the quiet of the night, only the sounds of the roads far below floated up to break the silence.

Words grew few and far between after a couple of swigs from the bottle. Clearly Louis had a lot on his mind, and Zayn wouldn’t push him to speak. If it was strange that Zayn was looking forward to the moment he would hear Louis’ voice, he didn’t care. Whenever they smoked together their accents got ridiculously thick, and it reminded him of the early days.

Sometimes they’d have a laugh thinking about their old selves, full-on Northern boys before they were toned down. Extensive media training taught them how to adjust their speech, and they lost a bit of that hometown charm. Louis and Zayn specifically had the most ‘aspects to improve upon’, and their shared displeasure during each coaching session brought them closer. Zayn knew none of what was about to be said would be funny, but hearing _Louis from Doncaster_ come back always unearthed memories of times before he was lost and numbed.

But the silence still lingered, so he waited.

After a while, Louis fished a white lighter from his pocket and swiped a cigarette from the pack laying out.

“Harry won’t be happy ‘bout that.”

Louis scoffed and balanced it between his lips while he lit it, one hand cupped around the side to block the wind from the flame.

“Common theme lately, innit.” He rolled his eyes at the frown directed his way. After taking one final drag, Louis stubbed it out in the dish to get Zayn off his back.

“So. It’s Harry, then.” Zayn turned his head away from the sky to look at Louis - his eyes were closed, but the flaring of his nostrils spoke loud and clear. “What’s ‘appened?”

“I,” he sighed aggressively, “I think he’s fuckin’ with me.”

“Mm?”

“Jus’ keeps pullin’ shit to rile me up on stage an',” he trailed off, “an' he _knows_ how I get up there. Hard enough to make it through when I’m hiding me shaky hands an' crackin’ notes. Like, ‘m fuckin’ gettin’ sick into a bin off-sides while you lot crush it. ’S embarrassing, Zayn.” The moment he opened his eyes, unshed tears sparkled in the moonlight.

“An’ now…now I can’t even do _anything_. No talkin',” he counted the list on his fingers, “no touches, no smiles. Fuck, not even s’posed to look at him, am I? But then he’s out ‘ere with his stupid little heeled boots. Got them fuckin’ braids done up the way he knows I like. He not know how to button up a shirt or wha’? Drives me mad, like, he tryna get me to pop a stiffy with all them kids watchin’?”

Louis angled his head away, and a few telltale sniffs let Zayn know it was to try and pull himself together.

“How ‘m I s’posed to go like this? Him doin’ whatever he can to get me jealous an’ shit. Why’s he…why would he go fuckin’ me over like tha’, Zayn?”

“None of that now, get over’ere. Look at me, babes.” Zayn pushed himself up on his elbow and patted a hand on Louis’ chest to reel him back in. “I love ‘im to death, but H? Bit of a bellend. Selfish prick when he’s feelin’ real sulky, _but_ ,” Zayn pointed a finger, “so ‘re you, mate. ’S alright to be angry. Don’ know how you haven’t decked ‘im yet t'be honest.”

He tousled little sections of Louis’ hair while he worked with him.

“I, like, I know not all of it’s ‘bout you. No like, honest, mate. I hear shit, Lou. I don’ _only_ talk to you, y’know.”

“Wha’s he said?”

“Well, tha’s between me and Mr Tomlinson, innit.” Louis looked like he was about to protest, but Zayn cut in, “Would y’like me goin’ ‘round to H with all this? Didn’t think so.”

“All I know ’s, like, ’s not _all_ you. Kid’s got a hell of a lot goin’ on in his curly little head. Textbook ‘emotionally tormented musician’ shite happenin’ up there. Maybe,” he took a second to collect words from around his mellowed-out brain, “maybe y’gotta have a talk. _Really_ talk, Lou. No yellin’, no assumptions, no angry sex - yeah I know ‘bout it, you idiot. Never been subtle, you two.“

Louis whined petulantly.

“How’m I s’posed to talk with ‘im if ’m thinkin’ ‘bout gettin’ a blowie, mate? He _really_ knows how t’use that pretty mouth, y’know.” His intoxicated giggling made it all the worse for Zayn.

“Lou…tha’s not…”

“Good for more than jus’ singin’, Z.“

“No, fuck off. Stop.”

“He does this move where-”

“Ew, no. Jus’ shut it, mate. ’S nasty.”

“Mmm… _yeah_ it is.”

—

Their energy always ebbed and flowed.

They had blissful moments. Sometimes they got lucky enough to secure a spot with a gorgeous view, others they spent in a hotel room far too fancy for their purposes, trying to keep ashes off the carpet. Even if they were laid on the cool tile of the bus toilet - which was not only disgusting, but incredibly cramped - there was always something to laugh about and kind words to be spoken. No matter where or when, they were a perfect portrait of brotherhood.

But nothing lasts forever. Nights like these weren’t meant to be fun, and there was always something to be unpacked, a problem to solve, a cry to be had. Ranting and listening and supporting and caring - that was their specialty. The refined, curated versions of themselves that the world knew, _Louis Tomlinson_ and _Zayn Malik,_ weren’t the same as _Louis_ and _Zayn_.

Louis had to play a character; they’d all been put through a relationship, or rumors of one, for publicity’s sake, but Louis was in deep. The time and effort that it took to follow through to the satisfaction of their team was like nothing the others put up with. Zayn was surprised he was still around - that would have broken him almost straight away.

Zayn, though undoubtedly a reserved guy, was a true master of conversation. He seemed to know exactly what to say in any situation, especially when it came to giving advice. If they talked, he listened - and he listened well. Never once had any of the boys regretted taking tips from Zayn.

The two of them were opposites on camera, but all too similar behind the scenes. Bold and shy, unfiltered and soft-spoken - nobody pegged them as the most emotionally intelligent of the group. Yeah, they might get a friend stoned when they were really going through it, but it was out of _love_. And it actually helped.

—

“Y’ever think about leavin’?”

“Hm? Like, leavin’ H?” His jaw clenched so tight Zayn thought he might break a tooth. “'Cos don’ you even-”

“No, no. ‘Course not. More like.” He took a steadying breath, hoping Louis couldn’t hear it. “Like, leavin’ the band.”

Louis shook his head with a smile that Zayn couldn’t quite read.

“I mean…no. Not seriously, at least. Never in a million years, mate.” He lit up another cigarette, and Zayn didn’t try to stop him this time. “Leavin’ our management? Every goddamn day I live. But not the lads. Not _this._ ”

Silence hung heavy in the air around them, and Zayn felt suffocated.

“You ever?”

“Hm, management. Yeah.” There was more weight behind his words, his phrasing, than Louis could know. “But like, ‘f you left, w-”

A bitter laugh shot from Louis.

“Not a chance, lad. Not like I’ve anywhere else t’go, right? Not got _the voice_ like you lot. Jus’ hidden in th’ background. Haz’d throw a fit if they cut me loose…” he coughed to hide the way his voice cracked, “an’ they need ‘im, so. Tha’s why they keep me ‘round. Not for me talent. 'M not _like_ you. Unfortunate, innit.”

He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. It had always been a sore spot for Louis, feeling like he didn’t deserve his place in the group. The way that first album was mixed, with Niall and Louis often faded deep in the background, really stuck in his mind. Nobody ever said the words to him of course but, for Louis, that was as good as a formal letter saying ‘you’re worthless’.

He got down on himself quite a bit, and it was really hard to watch. Their efforts to hype him up only worked to a certain point, but things changed a few years along. As they were given more agency with their sound, Louis shined like no other. It seemed like his confidence was rising and he was more willing to try new things, take on challenges. The Louis who brought impressive vocals and powerful, tastefully gay lyrics was the beautiful blossom of a flower that had been just barely blooming at their start.

Zayn hoped these were just the ramblings of a man cross-faded on a Tuesday night, twenty-some stories from the ground, and not how Louis truly felt finally rising to the surface.

“Y’know,” Zayn coughed, “y’know usually I call you an idiot ‘cos I love you, but…ri’ now? Louis, you’re a _proper fucking idiot_.” He sat up with his back against the railing to see him better.

“You c’n be angry with Hazza. And, like, I’ll trip ‘im up real good f'r you when we get to Japan. Make ‘im eat shit in front 'f everyone, jus’ you wait. But if you talk rubbish ‘bout my precious Louis one more time, mate? I’ll knock ya upside the head. Got it?” Zayn bonked him lightly on his temple and got a laugh in return.

“Alright, shuddup, y’sap.” He sat up against the railing facing Zayn’s. “You bein’ ‘ere? Means the world, mate.”

“Whenever y’need me, Lou.”

“No like…bein’ with us. Could do anythin’ you want, Zayn. Got the best of all us an’ more, you do. Could be on the road without us an’ do jus’ fine. But...we’re lucky - _I’m_ lucky to have you ‘round.”

The wind was knocked out of him; Zayn wasn’t sure he’d ever take another breath. Frozen in place, he didn’t know how he could possibly respond. Not when Louis didn’t _know_. It was a knife to the stomach - hearing his closest friend sing the praises of his loyalty as he readied to stab him in the back.

“Thanks, Lou.” His voice was softer than the wind. Both of their eyes were swimming with unshed tears, and Zayn saw an opportunity he knew he’d never get again.

“Fancy a cuddle?”

Louis’ watery laugh, the way his head fell forward with a huge smile - none of this was new for the two boys. Louis, though generally bold and unabashed in expressing his feelings, never wanted people to see him cry. Zayn was still quite reserved even after all those years and only ever went to Louis with serious problems. If he thought he might need to shed a few tears while he talked it out, Louis was his go-to. It was their little ritual - when one of them was upset, they’d hide off somewhere to lay like starfish and vent. They couldn’t remember why it started, but something about that first night - spent in silence on the cold metal top of bus one - was enough to form a years-long habit.

Hours of talking and listening and crying and laughing - all of it brought them closer each time. The older they got the more substances were involved, but even drunk or high the sentiment never changed. This was probably the last time Zayn would get to see Louis like this - the version of Louis that only _he_ had the privilege to know.

Zayn shuffled the forgotten pillows to make a comfortable pile. He held out an arm in invitation. They weren’t sure how long they laid there, Louis’ head on Zayn’s shoulder, Zayn leaning his cheek on the top of Louis’ hair. Neither of them said a word. They just watched the stars, cloaked in the scent of weed, peaches, and tobacco. Louis’ phone had chimed from inside the room every so often throughout the night, but neither had thought to check it. Once the ringing became incessant, Zayn convinced him to get up.

The boy's face paled almost immediately when he picked up.

“Hi — I, — no I, — yeah, but, — ‘M sorry, Hazza. — No, Haz — Haz, I — nobody, jus’ with Z, promise.”

Zayn couldn’t hear Harry clearly through the phone, but he could tell that poor Louis was getting ripped a new one. He pushed up and stumbled over, hand on the wall for guidance.

“Gimme it.” Louis handed the phone up to Zayn from his spot on the carpet.

“Hey H, — Yeah, ’s me. — No I know tha’, — ‘M sorry, love, —Don’ gotta worry now, yeah? — Me too, babes. Me too. — Been ‘ere all night, H. — On my life. — Mhm, — Love ‘im too, Harry, but, — yeah. — I’ll put y’back on.”

By the end, Zayn was struggling to keep his composure. He was still reeling from the change in position; they’d been laying outside for a handful of hours by then, so being upright for longer than a minute or two was jarring.

“Yeah. — Harry. — ‘M sorry, I — but,— No, ’s alright. — Don’t ‘ave to. — Can go meself. — Dunno baby, lemme,” Louis tugged at the leg of Zayn’s trousers like a toddler, “Z, wha’s the number? For, eh, here.” He continued with Harry, “580...6. 58…yeah — yeah — ‘M sorry. — Mhm. — Love you.”

“Lou. Did y’not tell ‘im you’d be over?”

Louis looked on the verge of tears again when he shook his head no. Even when they weren’t on speaking terms, Harry and Louis always found a way to let each other know where they were. It was very out of character for Louis to leave Harry hanging.

“Hey, everythin’s ‘lright. Don’t think Harry’s, like, angry. Jus’ scared ’s all”

“Still my fault.”

“Well, I uh, I mean, I dunno ‘bout that. ‘Cos if he didn’, like, ask…y’both jus’ got some shit to say. Sorry, ‘m still proper stoned so…best advice I can give.”

“He’ll be upset ‘bout the cigs. Told 'im I’d stop, Z.”

“Nothin’ you can do ‘bout it now, babes. Shit happens.” Zayn sat on the floor next to him, “He comin’ to steal you back?”

Louis nodded.

“Well...y'know I love you loads, idiot.” Zayn didn’t know how to express years of gratitude for their little pity parties without raising any questions. He had so much he could say, so much he _would_ say once given the chance. In that moment, he did the most he could think to. "Wouldn’t trade tonight for anythin’, mate.” He wrapped Louis up in the tightest hug they’d ever shared. “Serious, Tommo. Y'mean the world to me, too.”

Louis probably thought this was Zayn’s way of reassuring him, trying to make everything okay again, but it was more than that. It was also Zayn’s way of comforting himself, pushing his doubts all the way down. There was only so much longer he could put it off. It was only a matter of days before he’d have to tell them all. He wasn’t ready for this to be it.

Once Harry had come by to collect his husband, Zayn latched the door. He stood, leaning his forehead against it, one hand on the doorknob and one clutching his shirt, for what felt like an hour. Tears fell immediately as they formed, there was no holding back this time.

He wasn’t ready. But this was it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy i am SO sorry for this one!! think i put myself through more pain than i did the boys so...my bad? <3 i hope your weekend is off to a good start


	6. burning up, burning out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there are no sick days in the industry, even if niall isn't fit to walk across the room alone let alone a red carpet. the boys do all they can to get him through the night in one convincingly-healthy piece.

“No. He’s not going anywhere in this state. I won’t let him.”

“We don’t really have a choice, do we?” 

“Someone can say…“

“Say what, H? Name one thing we’ve ever said that got us off duty.”

They weren’t looking at each other, just staring intently at Niall. He looked awful in the hairdresser’s chair - his eyes were closed more often than not, pale lips parted, and arms pulled as tight to his body as possible. Even his stylist could tell something was off; she had stopped working halfway through and went to the sink, returning with a wet towel to drape over his neck.

“I really don’t think it's a good idea. He’s only getting worse.”

“Listen, I’m on your side here. I hate it as much as you do, but as long as he can walk…they’ll have him go.”

“ _Can_ he though? Look at him, Liam.” Hair done to perfection, Niall struggled to push himself up from his seat. The sofa across the room caught his eye and he nearly walked into a table on his way to it.

Harry ran up and grabbed him by the elbow.

“Here, I’ve got you.” He whipped his head around, _I told you so_ written all over his face, and Niall mumbled his thanks.

“There we go, have a rest. What can I get for you, Ni?” Harry bent down to eye-level with the now seated Niall to draw his attention. 

“Nothin',” he said, sounding more dejected than Harry had ever heard him.

With his heart aching, he moved to run his fingers through Niall’s hair, but stopped himself - sitting through another session of hair-pulling under those lights was the last thing Niall needed, so he changed course to cup the back of his neck instead.

“When was the last time you checked your temperature, love?”

“Mornin'. Don’t remember but,” Niall flopped his head down, “wasn’t good.”

“Yeah, not surprised. You roasted my hand back here.” Cool fingers tapped against Niall’s skin, making him smile.

A few minutes later, Liam came by with a water to see Harry holding Niall’s face, large hands covering both sides.

“What’s, uh, going on over here?”

“Think I've died.” Niall croaked.

Liam shifted his eyes to Harry.

“What? He likes my ‘ice cube fingers’, Liam. Who am I to say no?”

“So…having loads of fun. Good to hear!” Liam took up the spot next to Niall. “You remembered the bag, right? With the m-“

“Medicines and shit? Yeah. Gave it to Lou, I’ll go find him.”

—

The band was spread across a few dressing rooms, so Harry expected he’d need to hunt for while to come across either of the other guys, but it didn’t take long for his husband to find him first.

“Who said y’could flaunt that arse for everyone to see?” 

Louis had come from behind and grabbed Harry’s hips; pulling him in far closer than they were allowed in public. 

“I don’t share, baby.”

Harry spun around so they were chest-to-chest, all the while looking around to see if any prying eyes were hiding in the corridor.

“Have you lost your mind?” His arms floated in the air on either side of Louis’, whose grip tightened, hands staying exactly where they were.

“Maybe.” Louis’ breath warmed Harry’s lips before he captured them in his own. Harry savored the kiss, one hand on Louis’ face and the other snaking around his back before remembering where they were. He pulled away and stepped back to grow the distance between them.

“What the hell’s gotten into you today? _Not here_. You know better,” but chastising him did nothing to wipe the cheeky smile off his face. “‘M serious, love. We’ve got a big problem.” 

“ _Yeah_ we do, my sun.”

“I’m sorry, Lou, but for once in my life I’m not talking about your dick. Where’d you put that bag?”

“Oh. _Oh_. Yeah, bit more important. ’S back 'ere.” 

Earlier in the day, Louis helped to collect all the odds and ends for the little backpack, so he knew exactly what was inside and got the message without needing to hear any more. Their hands just barely brushed against each other as they walked-side by side to the back room. Harry took the bag from the hook and looked around the space to make sure nobody was close enough to see his lips brush Louis’ ear as he whispered something that turned Louis a deep red.

“…’cos I don’t share, _baby_ ,” was the final whisper, and Harry made sure to let the rest of his breath ghost across Louis’ neck. Knowing exactly what he did and feeling all too smug about it, he turned on his heel and left a very flustered Louis in his wake. 

—

Harry returned to find Niall with tissues in hand, elbows propped up on his knees. Liam pat him on the back when he saw Harry, who only caught the tail-end of their conversation.

“-ght the good stuff for you. Told you he would, didn’t I?”

There wasn’t a table around, so the bag was dumped out on the seat of a folding chair. A thermometer was thrust at Liam while Harry sorted out their various ‘working-while-sick’ items into categories. It was a bit sad that they couldn’t count the number of times they dipped into the stash, but their jobs didn’t allow for time off - or so they were told. They adapted to the lifestyle and learned the hard way that it’s better to be overstocked than underprepared. There had something for everything, and it was all extra-extra-strength. A few leftover prescriptions from previous illnesses found their way in, but if one of the boys needed to take from the year-old pack of Tamiflu, he could be _Zain J. Malik_ for the day.

At the beep of the thermometer, Niall took it out and handed it over. Liam’s face went blank at the reading and he held up fingers to silently communicate the 39 to Harry, not sure if knowing the reading would upset their already distressed friend. They were in deeper shit than they thought, and talking Niall into spending the next few hours in loud, bright, crowded spaces would be a greater challenge.

“Niall, it’s…you’ll need to be ready to go in an hour and a half. I’m so sorry, love, but we have to get you through the night.” Liam, soft and sympathetic, tried to let him down gently.

“No. Please, Harry.” Niall faced him instead, as if the answer would change. Harry just gave the smallest shake of his head and pulled another metal chair up so they could sit face to face.

“You know it’s not our choice.” Looking into desperate eyes to break the bad news completely shattered him, but he stayed steady, taking warm hands into his own.

“Can’t do it. I won’t make it.” 

The small tear that trailed down his face was a knife to the gut for both Liam and Harry. They knew Niall didn’t blame them, but it sure felt like it was their fault when they were the ones who had to physically drag him along.

“We can try to patch you up a bit, make it easier, but Ni,” Harry squeezed his hands, “you’ve got to talk to me. What’ve you taken already?”

“Th’ big orange ones. At ‘round…eleven.”

“Good choice, a classic. So tell me, what’s all got you feeling poorly?”

“Hurts. Just…all over. Throat on fire, got a headache. Feelin’ all,” he let go of Harry to wave a hand around his face, “ _gross_.”

“Been coughing much?”

“Tryin’ not to,”

Niall wanted to say more, but the _gross_ decided to make itself known. A sharp burning feeling grew in his nose without any warning and he panicked - dulled reflexes meant grabbing a tissue in time was out of the question, but Harry was sat right in front of him. Weakly pushing at Harry’s knees didn’t get him to budge. He wasn’t sure if his arm made it up in time to fully cover, but the sneeze had taken him over before he could say or do anything to stop it. Harry sighed and Niall was sure he heard Liam snickering for a moment before a sound of sympathy was directed his way.

“Ble-“ Harry was cut off by a small groan from Niall, still buried in his elbow.

A few breaths later, another harsh sneeze left him slumped over with his eyes still closed and breaths labored, doing nothing to quell the concern of his friends. Harry handed him a couple of tissues with an emphatic “ _bless you_ , darling,” which he took gratefully, and Liam tried to hide a fading smirk when Niall looked up.

It was hard to watch Niall sit there under fluorescent lights in his expensive clothes and uncomfortable shoes when it was glaringly obvious that he should be in bed with warm pyjamas and a huge cup of tea. Ever-smiling, upbeat, charming Niall was gone, now fevered and stressed and just so _ill_.

“Never heard you like this before, you poor thing.” Liam scooted in close again and carefully laid Niall’s head on his shoulder.

“Feel bad.” He was exhausted, but the night hadn’t even started.

Harry pulled a combination of bottles, reading labels and googling various things to make sure they were alright to be taken together. Four different tablets were dropped in Niall’s palm, but Harry held onto the bottle.

“These are for you. This cough syrup might get you a little doped up, so you don’t have to take it…but getting a little floaty always helps me out. What d’you think?”

Niall motioned for it as enthusiastically as he could. It was quiet for a while, just the two lucid boys speaking in low voices across Niall before someone from outside the room called for Harry.

“Be back as soon as I can, Nialler.” his knees cracked when he rose from the chair. “Pass those over.” He held an expectant hand out to Niall, whose ears went pink when he saw what Harry was referring to. 

“No. That’s gross.” Niall was not about to let Harry throw away his little pile of dirty tissues, even if he was on his deathbed he would rather get up and do it himself.

“So is Louis, and I touch him every day. I’ll wash up straight away, I promise.” Niall was unconvinced. “Look, it’s not like _I_ want your germs, but you’ll be sharing with _everyone_ if those lay around.” He plucked a fresh tissue from the box and draped it over his hand. “This better?”

“No,” he crossed his arms, “all…contagious n’ stuff.”

Harry cocked his head, eyebrows raised playfully and dimples just barely peeking out while he flashed a look toward Liam.

“Niall, my darling, you _did_ just sneeze all over me, so. Already too late. C’mon now.”

—

The hour and a half passed with Niall becoming significantly more alert and far less sniffly. After a few final touch-ups to where his makeup rubbed off on tissues, he was ready to join the others. They could hear the crowd already, but there didn’t seem to be any apprehension on Niall’s face. It seemed Harry’s cough syrup worked its magic - he was on his feet and very much awake, if not a bit jittery, but his eyes scanned his surroundings with only vague recognition and interest.

They could hear the roar of the crowd even from inside and they glanced nervously around at each other, communicating their silent concern. Liam took the helm and shook Niall’s shoulder to bring him out of his trance.

“Feeling better?”

“Mm. Feelin’ _less_. I look good?”

“Ace, Niall. Just pop a smile on that lovely face and you’ll be golden.” Liam’s kindness made him feel so much better, like he was buzzing. Or was it the cough syrup? Either way, he was ready to push through the night like a champ.

A voice called them forward and they stepped out. After a few minutes of group photos, they split up to cover more ground. There was a whole plan: Niall would stick to the middle while Zayn and Louis followed behind, the other two bookending him from the front. It was the easiest way to ensure someone could get to him if they needed to step in. And step in they did; it was around the ten minute mark that they hit their first snag. 

They had dealt with this before - disguising serious moments as normal conversations in front of hundreds of watching eyes, camera-worthy smiles gleaming on their faces. It was a real test of their training, like the time Liam came up to Harry, still grinning widely as he told him he was about to be sick. Harry laughed and clapped a hand on his shoulder. It was impressive, how he coached Liam the rest of the way with an unrelated, energetic conversation that worked to avoid eye contact with the crowd. It was the perfect fast-pass to guide them off that last stretch and into the nearest bathroom just in time.

Something was different this time -Niall was really struggling and the cracks were starting to show. Louis saw him fidgeting with the hem of his shirt and, knowing that he would keep better composed than Zayn, he took charge. He sped up as casually as possible and greeted Niall excitedly.

“Hey, Ni! You okay, love?”

“Lou. Lou, m'hands won’t stop shaking.” His voice was low and fearful, nothing at all like the character he needed to play.

“Alright, c’mere.”

Louis put his hand on Niall’s arm and leaned in as though struggling to hear him over the noise, using it as an opportunity to turn him slightly so his back was to the people. Sympathetic eyes locked onto Niall’s as he apologized, but the rest of his face was all positivity to keep up the illusion.

“I know, mate, we’re doin’ our best for you. Jus’ hold out a little longer.”

Louis gave him a little punch to the shoulder, a show of support disguised as a friendly gesture.

“Keep it movin’ quickly. Go catch up to Li and H. Zayn and I’ll be right behind. You can make it, Niall. We got you.”

He headed back toward all of the voices calling their names, leaving Niall to compose himself for a second. He coughed as subtly as he could, and did his best to avoid any and all talking. He just beamed and waved, pulling off what was clearly a convincing enough act.

Whenever he did stop to speak, he would answer only a question or two before leaving graciously. He felt so guilty for every hand he shook along the way, but there was only so much he could do without deviating from his ‘image’. Avoiding the big media outlets thus far was suspiciously easy, but getting sucked in was inevitable.

“Niall! We’ve got Niall Horan of One Direction here, how are you doing tonight?”

_If only she knew, she’d be about twelve feet away by now._

“I’m just…wow. So caught up in the energy out here, it’s crazy.”

_It’s not really a lie, is it?_

“Oh, I can’t even imagine! Now, Niall - it’s not your first time on this carpet.” It took everything in him to focus on her words. “One Direction have joined us the last few years, but how are you feeling about being a presenter this time around? Nervous? Excited?”

_How am I feeling? Nervous that I’ll pass out, maybe. Excited to get the hell home for sure._

“It’s an honor to be asked up there,” he played the classic diversion card, “and we couldn’t do it without all our lovely people out there. We’re so lucky to have fans who support us and p-“

“And _we’re_ lucky to have Niall!”

Harry, his knight in shining armor, came bounding up and swung his arms around Niall’s neck knocking them both forward a bit. Louis wasn’t far behind, walking up from the other side.

“We’re very lucky to have our Nialler who supports us when we have a few too many to walk straight,” Niall genuinely laughed at Louis’ mediocre Irish accent as he parroted his answer, “and makes a _lovely_ chicken fajita, by the way.”

The two carried the rest of the questions while Niall pretended to be engaged, Louis poking at his back whenever he needed to actually listen in.

“Well it was just so nice talking with you boys, we can’t wait to see you up on that stage tonight!”

—

“Cold?” 

The chair next to his was pulled out. Zayn plopped down in it and faced him, arm resting on the ridiculously fancy table that held Niall’s mostly-uneaten plate.

“Freezing.”

Niall used the sleeves of his jacket as a tissue a few too many times that afternoon to be deemed red carpet appropriate, so he was left in just his shirt for the rest of the night. There were certainly times he appreciated that - when it was stiflingly hot among the cameras, he thanked himself for his childish habit. Now he sat suffering the consequences as he had ricocheted to violent chills, so when Zayn shimmied his jacket off and placed it over his shoulders it was like cuddling up under a heated blanket.

“Not too long ’til we’re up, then H gets you back. You’re doin’ great, babes.”

“He not stayin’ with Louis?”

“Well, the rest of us wanna get tastefully plastered and Harry worries like a mum so…jus’ made sense. And I heard,” his lips curled up deviously, “you already _infected him_ anyway.”

Niall groaned and laid his head on the table.

“Was an accident,” whining hurt his throat, but he wasn’t particularly feeling up to having an adult conversation.

“I know, mate, just takin’ the piss,” he slipped a hand under the jacket to rest a supportive hand on Niall. His temperature had skyrocketed since the start of the night. ”Niall, fuckin’…that's...”

“Don’ feel good, Z.” Niall lifted his head from his arms and looked to be on the verge of tears. “Feel really ill.”

“I’m so sorry, babes. Leavin' soon, promise.”

Zayn helped him get his arms properly in the jacket before returning his hand to comfort him. All he could do was rub up and down on Niall’s back and beg time to move faster so the poor kid could get home. Niall was struggling to keep his eyes open, but before he could doze off, Liam smacked Zayn’s arm from two seats over.

“Time to go.”

Removing his hand brought Niall out of his trance with a small noise of displeasure.

“Hey, Irish. Y'ready?”

—

How Niall made it there and back on his own feet was a mystery to all of them. It was as though he was completely fine with the way he smiled and laughed for the audience, but it was all wiped away the second they got to the wings. The other boys wished him well and left Harry to get the two of them to the car alone. Niall made it all the way outside without much assistance, and it wasn’t until the Rover was pulled around that he started to stumble. Harry helped him up and set off as quickly as he could.

“‘M sorry I made you leave Louis.”

“Actually, thanks for that, ‘cos he’s driving me mad. Dunno what he’s up to tonight but like, if he got caught groping my arse they’d have to beard us both.”

Niall didn’t respond, just coughed and leaned his forehead on the cool glass of the window.

“You…are the picture of health, aren’t you?” Harry reached over the console to pat his leg.

“Sorry I sneezed on you,” Niall mumbled, looking out the window to avoid Harry’s eyes, “didn’ mean to.”

“It’s okay, love. ‘M not angry or anything.”

“Should be.”

“I’ve definitely done it to you before, like…I’m never _not_ sneezing.”

“Hayfever’s different, ’s not g-“

“Don’t beat yourself up, alright? Just an accident, love. 'M always here to help, even if it means I get all sniffly too.” Harry’s dimples came out when he shot Niall a quick glance. “And then Louis has to deal with all my snot and sweat which, if y’ask me, is payback for the shit he pulls on us.”

“‘Yeah. He has it comin’.”

Quiet music lured Niall toward sleep, but the clicking of the indicator woke him each time.

“Should I drop you home or would you like to stay at mine for the night? Have me and Lou there just in case, might be nice.”

“Yours, please.”

“‘Course, love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the update gap, classes started up again and i also kinda lost my mind for a few days lol :( it's not like i do most of my classwork anyway, but i can pretend for the first few weeks...  
> i'm sorry this isn't my best one, but i wanted to get something out there <3 i hope your week has been lovely!


	7. following liam's lead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> harry learned a thing or two from liam during the whole 'stomach incident' of 2011, and he's more than happy to steal a few of his friend's ideas when it's his turn to help out.

“Oh fuck me! You scared the piss out of me, Zayn,” Harry nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw his bandmate sitting at the kitchen counter. “Am I still dreaming? You’ve never been up before me. Or anyone else,” he still had a hand over his heart as he walked past.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to. Jus’…was havin’ a rough go at sleepin’ so I came out for some tea. Sorry, H.”

“No, no you’re fine, love.” Harry’s morning voice was still in full effect, dropping him down a half an octave. “What kind of tea ‘ve you got?”

“Chamomile.”

“Any good?” Zayn nodded. “Don’t you usually go for green in the mornings?”

“Um, yeah, I do. How’d you know?”

“What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t know how you take your tea?” Harry just shrugged, but the warmth of his words caused Zayn to duck his head with a shy smile. “What’s with the change? Y’know you can dip into my stash if you run out. Think I’ve got something green hiding away.”

He was a bit taken aback to find that Harry paid attention to his little habits. That didn’t seem to be the case with the other lads, they could hardly keep tabs on themselves let alone each other, but this was Harry after all. The boy was perceptive to an impressive degree, which meant there was no point in lying.

“Still ‘ave some left, I jus’,” he mumbled, avoiding Harry’s eyes, “I’m feelin’ a cold comin’ on. Figured herbal tea might do me some good.”

“Ah. Sorry, mate. You need anything?”

“‘M okay, jus’ a bit off.”

Unlatching one of the cupboard doors, Harry pulled out a box of Coco Pops.

“Want any?” Harry paused, hand hovering in the air above the cutlery as he waited on an answer. Zayn shook his head and pointed at his throat, so Harry fixed only one massive bowl. The two boys sat in relative silence while he ate, Zayn sipping at his tea and coughing lightly every few minutes. As Harry was pouring a second helping, he spoke up.

“Tea usually patches up an angry throat for a bit, but I’ve got this syrup thing that would keep you going for longer. Got a few things actually, if you want.”

“That…actually sounds real nice. You sure y'wouldn’t mind sharing?”

“Course not,” he reached across the counter to pat Zayn’s arm. “So, sore throat. What else are we working with?”

Harry was just so… _Harry_ that Zayn didn’t even hesitate to give him the run-down. There was something about him that felt safe, as if his presence itself was reassuring. He knew Harry wouldn’t isolate him or make him self-conscious, and he wasn’t just helping because he felt obliged. Everything the boy did was so genuine, and his kindness had a universal pull to everyone around him.

“Got a bit of a sore head. Not too much in the way of coughin’ yet but m’throat’s real scratchy. Usually I get like, real congested a few days in, but I think ’m just startin’ off.”

“Good, okay. Well, um, not good. But you know what I mean. Alright, be right back.” Harry had turned toward the bunks, but he suddenly whipped back around, stumbling over his own feet.

“Wait,” he grabbed the counter for balance, “you running a temperature?”

Blushing deep red, Zayn opened his mouth to respond, but the back of Harry’s hand was already on his forehead.

“Hm, yeah. Feels a little warm, not awful.”

Again, he didn’t have a chance to respond before Harry was off. Though still a bit flustered from the interaction, he rolled his eyes with a fond smile.

It was always difficult for Zayn to talk about feeling ill. Sometimes he felt like he couldn’t even tell his mum - he didn’t know why, but it was a bit embarrassing to admit when he needed someone to watch over him. There was just something about Harry that was comforting, caring, so innately _good_ that there was never a doubt in his mind that Zayn could tell him anything. Through all the shit he had to put up with, all the things he didn’t remember signing up for when he joined the band, he always had Harry - lightening the mood, listening when nobody else did, giving him individual attention in the moments he needed it most. Harry was often a light in the dark when there wasn’t much else to guide the boys through cloudy times.

Heavy footsteps approached the kitchen, Harry audibly tripping himself again and grumbling, and Zayn’s lips turned up at the corners.

“Right then,” Harry slammed the bottle of cherry-red liquid onto the counter, “tastes like piss, but it works a charm. These,” he dropped a bag of lozenges next to it, “are possibly the greatest innovation in modern medicine. Don’t know what’s in ‘em, not sure I care. All I know is they can get me through a day of press without coughing all over the interviewers. Gimme your hand.” Zayn obeyed, holding an open palm to Harry who dropped two tablets into it. “Panadol. If you need somethin' for your sinuses later…I’ve got more shit. _Loads_ more. So just lemme know, yeah?”

“H, I…thanks, mate.”

“Any time.” Still standing, he pulled the seated Zayn into a side hug, leaning on him and yawning deeply. “You get much rest, love?”

“Uh, not really, no. Had a shower then turned in a little after you 'nd Louis. Woke up ‘round four.”

He looked up to see Harry giving him a dopey smile.

“Caught that cold from sleeping with wet hair, didn’t you, young man.”

“Tha’s a load of crap and you know it, Styles.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he was still grinning, but there was a hint of worry behind his half-lidded eyes. “You must be exhausted. Did you wanna try again? Maybe it would go better with that throat under control.”

“Not sure, ’s hard to sleep when ‘m ill unless,” he cut himself off. Even though it was just Harry, he wasn’t sure that he wanted to be even more vulnerable in that moment than he already was.

“Unless what?”

Pale cheeks flushed, Zayn picked at his fingernails while he debated his next words.

“Stupid, but ’s hard to fall asleep alone. Sometimes mum would rub my back or summat, but,” a few tears came to his eyes but he blinked them away, hoping Harry hadn’t seen, “we’re not kids anymore. Gotta get over it, I guess.”

“Well…sure we are, love. Not Lou, he’s ancient, but we’re seventeen. I reckon that counts. But either way, doesn’t mean y’can’t have a little extra care every so often, yeah? ’Specially when you’re unwell.” At that, Harry buried a hand in Zayn’s hair and carefully worked through the bedhead. “Don’t know 'bout you, but I haven’t really woken up yet. Let me finish this,” his free hand picked up the bowl of cereal, “then you’re comin’ with me.”

—

When there was a little less syrup in the bottle and an empty dish in the sink, Harry grabbed Zayn by the hand. They tiptoed back to the bunks, not wanting to wake the others as they scooped up all of their pillows and blankets. Just as Liam had done for Harry when he was ill a few months previously, they tossed it all into the back lounge. Zayn left for the toilet while Harry got to work cosying up the space.

Once Zayn returned, he saw Harry snuggled up underneath all of their blankets, looking as comfortable as ever. Some movie - whatever Niall had been watching the night before when Zayn turned in - played quietly, the small television screen being the only light in the room. A box of tissues had been tossed on the sofa along with two waters and a handful of cough sweets.

“Come on over,” Harry held up the blanket and patted the spot next to him. When Zayn hesitated, he gave him a look. “Get your arse in here already, I’m getting cold.”

Zayn still looked shy, but he shuffled over anyway. When he sat, Harry wrapped an arm around him and he froze. Harry pulled it back immediately and clasped his hands in his lap.

“Shit, sorry. I should have asked, I didn’t mean t-“

“No, it’s uh, s'fine. I don’ mind, but like, I jus’…I mean, I ‘ave a _cold_ , H.”

“I know, love. Is it okay if I put my arm around you?”

“You’re _sure_ y’want me all up in your space right now?”

“Positive.”

“Even though I got a fever?”

“Yeah. Can I hug you now or what? Fuckin’ room’s freezing.”

After pausing for a second, Zayn ultimately scooted closer and gave a quiet _yes,_ secretly yearning for some extra body heat to warm him up. With Harry bringing him in closer, he adjusted the blanket nest to lay nicely around them. Zayn felt a hand return to his hair, gently raking through it again, and he shivered, leaning up into the touch.

“That’s alright then?”

“Mm.” Lifting his head, he placed it hesitantly on Harry’s shoulder. Zayn knew Harry would normally be more than alright with it, but he wasn’t sure if the prospect of breathing in a bunch of germs would make things different. Not wanting to speak on account of his throat, he just looked up at the boy through his lashes and waited for a rejection. When Harry hummed affirmatively and scratched at Zayn’s scalp for a second, he dropped the full weight of his head to rest there.

It briefly crossed his mind that they might look too snuggly, and Zayn worried about what would happen if Louis were to walk in on them. It wasn’t as though they would do anything more than nap, but that boy had a protective streak like no other and he did _not_ want to take a smack to the ribs while his brain was throbbing. With the warmth of Harry’s body and the relief he was getting from the little head massage, he decided he couldn’t be bothered to move.

It didn’t take long for the slight rocking of the bus and rhythmic combing of his hair to lull Zayn to sleep. Harry felt quite pleased with himself - making people feel loved and cared for was a skill he was rather proud of, and knowing that he could help Zayn, shy and self-reliant as the boy was, sent a warm feeling spreading through his chest. He spent a moment looking down at the boy on his shoulder, worrying about the pained furrow of his brow that remained even while he slept, but his eyes refused to stay open for more than a few seconds at a time. Harry waited until the warm breaths puffing onto his chest became soft snores, then settled his head on top of Zayn’s. More than happy to follow suit, he easily slipped into a deep, warm slumber, still holding his friend close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a short little chapter! doing my best to write a little every day so i can update often <3 and that pap photo of harry in the apron? slaughtered me. i love it! probably too much


	8. working a double

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> louis is in desperate need of a good night's sleep, but syco _desperately needs _to crank out the next album - liam shoulders a little extra responsibility to ensure his band doesn't fall apart at the seams.__

Much of the vocal work on their albums was recorded in the early hours of the morning…or late at night, depending on which boy you asked. Sound engineers would set up mini-studios in hotel rooms, pushing beds to the far walls and covering desks, chairs, and tables with piles of heavy, expensive equipment.

The boys would come back from shows, have a shower, and take turns standing at the mic. Often exhausted and achy, they weren’t always the most willing participants, but they learned to put up with the schedule as the months and years stretched on.

Some of them were more cooperative than others - Niall would always take the time without complaint, but trying to get Zayn up and working after he collapsed on his bed was like wrestling an angry cat. Among the five of them, they worked out an efficient system to rotate their ‘shifts’.

Usually, Harry would go toward the end, but they made the decision to get him done right after Zayn this time around. He was recovering from a bout of the flu, and crew and band alike were in agreement that he should get done and into his room as soon as possible.

He looked dead on his feet, and so did his boyfriend. Louis was a diligent caretaker, and he spent every minute of the day looking after Harry. Between that and the fast-paced tour schedule, the makeup team had to spent more time on his dark circles with every passing day.

Liam offered to switch places with Louis so that Harry wouldn’t have to spend too much time in bed alone, and he gratefully agreed. Bored and restless while they waited, Liam tried to engage him in a conversation about some of the fans from the show earlier that night.

“So she was holding up the sign, right, and when I pointed her out to- hey, you still with me?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah. Sorry, keep goin'.” Louis’ eyes were lidded, and he stared blankly ahead at Harry, whose back was to them.

“Something’s wrong.” It wasn’t a question, and he angled himself toward Louis to look him over.

“No, all good 'ere, mate.”

“You look pale, Tommo. Hold up a hand for me?”

Shifting in his seat uncomfortably, Louis’ dry eyes took on an stubborn gleam.

“Don’t see why I ha-”

“Just do it.” He did, and Liam clicked his tongue. “Ah, the shaky hands. Slept what, four, five hours last night?”

A muscle ticked in Louis’ jaw and he looked about ready to argue, but he slumped. “Try three.”

“Louis, c’mon mate, we’ve been over this. Gotta do better than that. What’s going on, love?”

“Jus’…with H comin’ off that flu I think I fucked up my schedule. Used to gettin' up a dozen times a night with ‘im, now I jus’ can’t seem to sleep.”

With a sympathetic sound, Liam pushed Louis’ fringe out of his eyes. “You think you’re coming down with it too?” He took the opportunity to feel around his face, brushing from forehead to neck. The fact that Louis didn’t slap him away showed how absolutely drained he was. “Don’t seem all too feverish to me.”

“No, yeah, I think ’m fine. Jus’ positively knackered, mate. Don’t know how I’m s’posed to sleep anymore. Can’t tell Haz, he’s finally gettin’ better, wouldn’t want him ill again ‘cos he stayed up w'me.”

“Same goes for you. You need to rest or you’ll crash and burn.”

“Oh, really? How do you suggest I get some rest, Liam? Tell me, when will I be _allowed_ to do that?” He was getting snippy, but Liam didn’t take it to heart; he knew Louis well enough to recognize that he was overtired, and he was okay with having that irritation taken out on him over anyone else in the room.

“They really keep us goin’ all day long, don’t they.” He sighed and looked around at the room, filled with blinking lights and soundproofing material haphazardly attached to the walls. “Especially you - you work too hard for us,” Louis grunted his disagreement, but Liam insisted. “No really, you do. Always puttin’ out fires, reading paperwork and shit. It’s about time you get a break.”

“No sleep ’til ‘m done in ‘ere. No break ’til end of th’ month.”

Liam hummed and pulled Louis in to rest against his side. “Lean on me, love, rest your eyes for a bit. Just close 'em for a few minutes, hm?”

“Can’t. Aren’t I next?”

“There’s still time. I’ll wake you if you fall asleep.”

Only a few seconds of grumbling preceded Louis dropping his cheek onto Liam’s shoulder and sliding it around until he found a comfortable position. He quickly dozed off, and Liam did his best to stay still. Scrolling through Twitter got boring after a short while, so he put his phone down and listened to Harry.

The boy’s voice was leaps and bounds ahead of where it had been the previous day, but he botched about a third of the takes on account of his nose. At one point, Harry sneezed so hard he bent in half and smacked his head on the microphone. He straightened up and rubbed his cheekbone while the headphone-clad men recovered from the massive clunk that just blasted in their ears - Liam laughed silently at the ridiculous scene, but froze when the weight on his shoulder shifted. He let out the breath he was holding when all Louis did was burrow deeper into his shirt.

Once it seemed Harry was starting to wrap up, one of the men left his post and came to where the two boys were sat. Upon realizing Louis was asleep, he turned to speak to Liam instead.

“Hey, so…we’re almost ready for him. Figured he should get all warmed up, but,” he gestured vaguely at Louis.

“Can we please jus' leave him out of it tonight? Poor lad hasn’t had a proper sleep in nearly two weeks.” Liam put on his subtlest puppy-dog eyes. The act often worked on their bodyguards, so he hoped the skill was transferrable to sound engineers.

The man took in the deep bruise-like circles under Louis’ eyes, his slightly parted lips, and the ruffled hair that brushed Liam’s jaw, looking torn. “I’d love to, I really would, but we have to wrap up these demos.”

Dropping all professionalism, Liam clenched his jaw and looked up, raising his eyebrows and pointedly tightening his grip on Louis.

“Okay,” he conceded with a sigh, “Harry’s got a few more minutes, then we’ll have you instead - give him a little longer to nap.”

“No, come off it. Look at him! You really want to wake him at arse o’clock in the morning and make him sing? Been caring for his ill boy all week, hasn’t he - without a good night’s sleep, he’ll end up the same. And H too, he’s not at 100% and you have him straining his throat for _demos_? Really?”

Liam’s nostrils flared and he took a deep breath to push down the frustration. He thought for a moment, trying to figure out what he could possibly say to get his friends the well-deserved break they needed.

“Look, I'll stay an extra hour or whatever, cover some parts. Make up for lost time or whatever the fuck, just…let him go.”

There was an edge to his tone that he knew would crumble any potential argument. Liam was generally easygoing and polite, but it wasn’t a secret that challenging him - especially when it came to the wellbeing of his mates - was a dangerous game. He didn’t snap often, but when he did…the crew just hoped they weren’t in the room to see it, let alone be on the receiving end.

“You’d really want to stay longer?”

“Course I don’t fuckin’ want to,” he was getting riled up, but he kept his voice quiet for Louis’ sake, “it’s half-one and I’m starving and jet-lagged and proper _exhausted_. But I’ll do it for Lou.”

With one final scan of Louis, the man walked back over to the others, signaling for them to remove their headphones. They put Harry on pause for a moment, and the second they did he downed an entire bottle of water with record speed, looking over at Liam with a sleepy smile and a thumbs up. Their eye contact was broken by a body, and Liam readied himself to fight.

“He’s off the hook for tonight,” the guy looked nervous, as if worried he’d have to face Liam’s wrath despite telling him what he wanted to hear.

Liam dropped his stony expression and nodded graciously. 

“Thanks, mate. Really appreciate it. Could you, uh, get Harry over here…for just a quick second. I can’t exactly get up right now.”

He just nodded and turned around, Liam could tell he was still a bit intimidated, and beckoned Harry over while pointing a thumb behind him.

“Someone looks comfortable,” Harry whispered, his own eyes drooping as he fonded over Louis.

“Been asleep nearly half an hour now.”

“Good. He’s been so tired, I feel awful for keeping him up all these nights.”

“You know you’d have done the same for him, love.” Liam reached out and grabbed Harry’s hand. “You hangin’ in there?”

“Trying my best. Startin’ to get dizzy which is new, but I’ll live for a little while longer. Is, um, do you know if he’s feeling well?” His voice was weak and guilt-laden, but Liam did his best to comfort him.

“Well…said he was just tired. I don’t feel a fever on him, but he’s looking a bit peaky, isn’t he.” Harry nodded, shining eyes fixed on his boyfriend. “D’you want me to take him off to your room? I know they said you’re nearly done, but that could m-”

“Could mean anything at this point, yeah. Here,” Harry dug in the pocket of his joggers and pulled out the key card, “two doors down on the right. Thank you, Liam. I’m just,” Harry trailed off with a faraway look in his eyes and hand at the ready, but he lost the sneeze with a deep sigh, “worried 'bout him. Begged him to get another room, but he refused flat-out.”

“I know, Haz. I’ve got it covered here, you go finish up.”

Profusely thanking him, Harry gave a feather-light touch to Louis’ upper arm before he shuffled back to the makeshift booth. Liam put a hand on Louis’ leg and gently shook it to rouse him.

“Tommo. Hey, wake up.” The boy came to with a gasp and launched forward, resting his forearms on his knees and breathing heavily.

“S’it my turn?” Louis slurred, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“No, love. Time for bed.” He looked up, revealing the waffle-knit of Liam’s shirt printed into his pink cheek. “Got you the night off. Let’s go.”

Louis hesitated, staring longingly at the person Liam knew he wanted most.

“H?” His whole body shuddered as he yawned.

“He’ll meet you soon, but y'need to get into a bed. Don’t wanna be all stiff tomorrow, right?”

“Mm,” he nodded slowly. “How long w’s I ‘sleep?”

“Only a half hour. C’mon.” he stood up and reached his hands out for Louis to grab. When the boy swayed on the spot, Liam held his shoulders to keep him on his feet.

“Whoa, I got you, love.” he wrapped an arm around Louis' waist and helped him to the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Harry watching them over the microphone.

“Why’d I get th' nigh'off?”

“‘Cos you deserved it,” Liam put it simply, not wanting a conversation keep him up for longer than he had to. “This is the right door?”

“Mhm. No key.”

Liam held Harry's up for him to see. One hand inserted the it into the slot and turned the handle while the other still grasped right below Louis’ ribcage.

“S'messy.”

“I’ve seen how you live for the last three years, mate, it’s alright. Did y’want to brush your teeth?”

“Did ‘fter show. Prob’ly okay.” If Liam didn't know better, he'd say Louis was shitfaced with the way he slurred his words.

“I’d think so, too. Need pyjamas?”

“Tired.” Louis whined, voice shaking.

“I know, babe. Climb on in then. Hazza’s almost done, he’ll be back for you real soon, alright?” Louis hummed, eyes closed as he rolled to his side.

“Okay, Lou. I’ll leave you be,” Louis reached a hand up sleepily and Liam grabbed it to give a light squeeze. “Be well, mate. See you in the morning.”

He murmured something into his pillow and snuggled into the blankets. Liam wouldn’t doubt that he was already asleep by the time the door was shut.

—

Finally back in the recording room, he was nearly slammed in the face by the door to the toilet. He cried out indignantly, and out stepped Harry.

“God, sorry, Liam. Didn’t see you. ‘M finally done.”

“S’okay. Your boy’s dead to the world.” He handed him the key. “Go give him a cuddle, he needs it.”

“It’s my fault, I really tried not to wake him, but he’s such a light sleeper, an'…” he closed his eyes and took a long, slow breath. “S'rry, real dizzy.”

Liam opened his arms and Harry gave him a tight hug, using it to ground himself from the spinning in his head.

“You were poorly, y'couldn’t help it. Speakin' of which, you need to keep resting up. I know you’re feelin’ a little better, but your fever just broke yesterday and I’m gettin' worried with this vertigo.”

“Yeah, ‘m not happy ‘bout it either.” Harry mumbled into Liam’s hair. “How’d you do it? Never got a free night before.”

“Told them I’ll stay late, use up his time on top of mine.”

Harry stepped out of the embrace a bit too fast, and grabbed one of Liam’s arms to stop himself from keeling over.

“No, Li, what? Why’d you- no. _I_ can cover him, you shouldn’t 'ave to stay.”

“Harry,” Liam warned, “go to bed. You’re still under the weather and I don’t think Louis is feeling too well either. You’re barely upright and I can tell your throat is aching. I’m handling it, no arguments.”

“I really, um, I can’t thank you enough. We’ve just been so…” Harry teared up, “his eyes are so red and I know he’s getting those bad headaches again, Liam, but he won’t let me help.”

“I know, mate, don’t get yourself all worked up. Everything’ll be fine, Harry,” Liam was gentle, and he led Harry to the door with a hand rubbing his upper back. “Let’s go, I’ll walk you back.”

“S’just down the hall.”

“Yeah, but I don’t trust those Bambi legs to get y'there right now.”

—

The clock read 2:07.

Liam cracked open his water and took a sip before plopping down on the stool. He called upon all of his patience before addressing the room, trying to sound at least a little pleased to be there.

“Right, so what are we workin' with on this morning?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i used to get up really early for work, but because i've barely had any shifts lately i'm staying up _way too late _:( i'm not sure why, but i've been working there for a really long time and i haven't been fired? it's a small business and my boss is just not bringing me or my only other coworker in :( i just want to make pretty lattes and talk to my regulars! i don't even get paid enough per month to cover my rent so if i'm ghosted for much longer i'll leak our recipes lol <3__
> 
> __have a lovely lovely weekend everyone!!_ _


	9. crescent-moon skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> niall might not know much about panic attacks, but if there's one thing he _does _know, it's that he's quite good at hugging. luckily, that's exactly what zayn needs to bring himself back to earth.__
> 
> __cw: anxiety, panic attacks, mentions of vomiting_ _

When Liam rushed out of the room with a hand over his stomach, Harry was hot on his heels. The boys had known he was feeling off, Liam told them that afternoon, but they assumed he was just a bit tired. There was no mention of feeling ill until he bolted from his chair.

Niall was shocked at the sudden turn of the evening, and he looked around at the other two. Louis was out cold on the sofa, not at all roused from his nap by the bouncing of the cushions when Harry leaped up from beside him. Zayn was staring down at his phone, but upon closer inspection, Niall saw that the screen was blank.

Not sure why someone would stare that intensely at their lock screen, he thought to ask what was going through his head. Right as he was about to, Zayn also snapped to his feet, but he marched in the opposite direction of the toilet. Niall assumed that he had gotten a text from Harry asking him to grab something or…something like that, so he didn’t follow.

None of the other boys had mentioned feeling poorly, but maybe hearing Liam had triggered Zayn’s stomach as well. They were all lucky Louis was napping. Had he been awake, Niall would most definitely have been rubbing his back as he heaved over the kitchen sink, or worse, stuck in the ridiculously small bathroom with Liam so that Harry could be with his boyfriend.

Nearly ten minutes passed without Zayn resurfacing, so curiosity turned to concern. Niall steeled himself as he headed to their bunks. He wasn’t nearly as bad as Louis, but he knew from experience that if he were the one to chase Liam, he would have been sat on the floor with his head between his knees by now. If Zayn needed looking after he would do it without hesitation, but he really, truly hoped he would be spared the experience.

There was nothing but silence as he approached and no unpleasant smell hit him, just the lingering scent of shower gel from when Louis spilled it all over the carpet the day before. The curtains were fluttering with the slight movements of the bus - all but Zayn’s. His was shut tight, and no light seeped out from around the edges.

“Hey, Z? You in here?” Niall knocked on the wall outside of his bunk. There was no doubt that he was; there wasn’t anywhere else he _could_ be, and the boys never saw a reason to close their curtains unless they were asleep.

“Are you feelin' alright?”

All he got in answer was a small gasp, and he realised that Zayn was crying. He slid a hand around the curtain and pulled it open slightly just in case he couldn’t be heard well through the thick fabric. Without looking in, he squatted to be level with the bed.

“Zayn, man, I’m serious. Wha’s going on?” When he got no response again, he opened it further and saw his friend in the far corner, facing away with shoulders rising and falling rapidly. “I’m comin’ in.”

Kicking off his shoes, Niall climbed in the bunk. The space was just barely larger than a single bed and the ceiling was low, so he hunched over slightly to fit. Zayn, however, was curled in so tight on himself that he was nowhere near touching it. Not wanting any sudden movements to upset him further, he made sure the mattress moved slightly as he got closer to signal his position.

Niall was in way over his head - he had no idea what was wrong or how to help. All he knew was he needed to take things one step at a time. He offered a hand, reaching it around Zayn without touching him; the boy took it and held it limply.

“Let’s jus' breathe, okay?” Telling him to breathe wouldn’t be enough - if he could, he obviously would have done it on his own. Wracking his brain for a solution, Niall slowly pulled his arm back toward himself. He placed their intertwined hands on his chest, Zayn’s palm resting just under his heart and his own hand pressing it down.

“Match me.” He exaggerated the movements of his diaphragm, causing both of their hands to follow the rhythmic rise and fall. After a while, Zayn’s breaths deepened. They were still too fast, but at least he was getting enough air.

“Look at that, there we go. Can, uh…can you turn around?” When Zayn whined, Niall scratched his shoulder. “S’okay, you don’t have to.”

To his surprise, Zayn, with the arm not occupied by Niall’s hand still clutching his legs to his chest, slowly spun himself around, but stuck his face in his knees.

“There we go. Hey, mate.” Niall tapped a finger lightly on the cheekbone left exposed. “I’d love to see those eyes, hm?” Zayn made no attempt at moving. He wasn’t calming down any, his back still shook with his quiet crying, so Niall took to drawing little patterns across his cheek and neck. That seemed to slow him a bit, and a whimper was muffled into his jeans.

“Still gonna hide from me?” Zayn nodded into his legs. “Why, y’worried about me seein’ you?” Another nod. “It’s real dark in here, doubt I’ll see much. But…I bet you’ve got a pretty cryin’ face anyway. Not like mine, right?”

Niall thought he might have laughed, but it could easily have been another set of tears. Either way, Zayn lifted his head, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

“Aha, I was right! Still gorgeous - s’not even fair!” Zayn didn’t smile, but some of the tension released from his face. “What’s got you all nervy, babe? Wanna talk about it?”

“Niall,” he whispered, finally making eye contact. Seeing his long lashes clumped together, eyelids puffy and red - that made Niall want to cry himself.

“What’s wrong?”

Zayn pulled in a jerky breath and looked down. “Out there.”

“Hm? D’ya mean Liam? Oh, he’ll be alright, babe. Nothin’ to cry about, jus' got a little stomach ache. No big deal.”

Fearful brown eyes widened large as saucers, and Zayn started tugging frantically on his fingers. Niall was at a loss for a moment, not sure what to make of the reaction, but he put two and two together.

“Oh, not a fan of, uh…” he didn’t want to say the words aloud in case it would send him into a another spiral. “Hey, let’s not do that,” he noticed crescent-shaped dents all over his forearms, and grabbed hold of both of Zayn’s hands, stopping him from digging his fingernails into the skin, “you’re hurtin’ yourself. Hold me tight as you need to.”

He took that statement verbatim and Niall seriously thought he might need a pinky amputation at their next stop.

“Don’t remember you bein’ much of a germaphobe.”

“Colds are different. Don’ like s-sick.” His voice was thick, sounding as if he was about to lose his own stomach. “Can’t do it.”

“Yeah, I’m with you there.”

Zayn shut his eyes tight, and his hands vibrated in Niall’s grip.

“Do you…” he hesitated, “d'you think, like…”

He didn’t want to ask the question, but Zayn was right in front of him and he _really_ didn’t feel like taking the brunt of his friend’s lunch. Zayn got the message and shook his head rapidly before the sentence was finished.

“Scary,” he breathed, nearly inaudible.

“Sorry, Z.”

Since he couldn’t release his panicked energy through his trapped hands anymore, Zayn’s body shook more violently as the conversation went on. At this point, Niall really wasn’t sure what else to try, but now that he knew touch wasn’t a complete no-go, he offered more.

“Would y'want a hug? Don’t have to,” he clarified quickly, “but if you do, I’m your guy.”

His eyes were still filled to the brim with anxiety as they flicked back and forth frantically all over Niall, as if searching every square inch of him for germs.

“I haven’t been ‘round Li if that’s what you’re worried about.”

With that knowledge, Zayn launched himself into Niall, who shuffled his friend almost into his lap, wrapping his arms all the way around him. He could feel Zayn’s chest twitching against his as he tried to hold back tears.

“You can cry, Z, s'okay.”

Zayn rested his face into the crook of Niall’s neck and silent sobs tumbled from him. Tears were dampening his skin and the collar of his shirt, but he continued to rub up and down Zayn’s spine, unbothered by the feeling. Once he thought they were almost finished, a second wave burst from him, and this time he was unable to keep them fully quiet. Niall’s heart was breaking, and he put a hand on the back of Zayn’s neck, applying light pressure in an effort to ground him.

It felt like forever that they were wrapped around each other. Niall held him even as the tears slowed to a stop, only small hiccups escaping him.

“Feels good to let it out, yeah?” Zayn’s hair tickled Niall’s face as he nodded. “Wanna get more comfortable? We can lay back if you like, stop your head from bumpin' at the wall.”

He didn’t answer the question, just sniffed. “Cried on y’r shirt.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” He joked, trying to lighten up the mood, “but I don’t mind. Not like I don’t have more.”

As they slowly left the embrace, Niall brought his sleeve over his hand to clean the mess from Zayn’s face.

“Don’ wan’ y’to wear a snotty shirt.” Squirming, Zayn tried to protest, embarrassed about dirtying it further.

“Oh me neither, babe. I’ll get a fresh one from up there,” he pointed up at the ceiling, as his bunk was right above Zayn’s.

“C’n take m’hoodie,” He didn’t lift his arm as he pointed toward the little shelf that held the poorly-folded gray top.

“Nah, tha's your favourite one - can’t be stealin’ it, can I? I’ll be right back.” He started to scoot out, but Zayn grasped his wrist with both hands.

“Z?”

“S-sorry. Sorry. I…” he picked at his fingers again, but far less aggressively, “I jus’ wanna be close t’someone,’ he was whispering by the end of the sentence, “if s'alright.”

“Course it is. Give me just a minute, okay? Not leavin'.” Niall moved over to grab his phone from the other end of the mattress, but made sure one of his legs was still in contact with Zayn's to assure him that he was still there.

**4:11 hiiiiiiii sweet curly perfect angel bestie 😘**

**can u keep the boys out the bunks?**

_ed-word tommo_ 😏:

4:11 _oh hey !!!!!_

_something wrong?_

**4:11 z just had a panic attack? tryna keep him calm**

_ed-word tommo_ 😏:

4:11 _aw no :( poor lad_

_yeah i definitely can_

**4:11 oh i lov u bby 😘❤️ i’m stealing u from louis**

**ur mine now! have him file the divorce papers**

_ed-word tommo_ 😏:

4:11 _i’m literally not married_

**4:11 ur as good as 😉 but not anymore**

**changing ur contact name rn 💋💍**

**but anyway…can u maybe keep it secret?**

**4:12 the z stuff. not our marriage lol pls tell everyone abt that**

_harry horan_ 👬🍆:

_4:12 i’m on it, husband .x_

_i’ll say you’re napping_

_liam’s fine btw_

_thinks it was lunch not agreeing with him_

**4:12 good good 👍🏻 tell him he’s gross!!**

_harry horan_ 👬🍆:

4:13 _rude…will do!_

_good luck with z .xx_

_oh also_

_play with his hair_

_it’ll help_

_also_

_when can we consummate the wedding ;) ???_

Niall rolled his eyes, and Zayn hummed curiously.

“Oh, nothin',” he slipped his shirt off and replaced it with the hoodie Zayn had offered as he responded. “Liam’s okay, Harry wants to make sweet, passionate love to me tonight, the usual.”

The smallest of smiles turned the corners of Zayn’s mouth up.

“We’ll be in my bed _all night_ , riiiight above you.”

Though he was grumbling something unintelligible, the smile grew. He shuffled, making room for Niall to slide between him and the wall. Once he was situated, Zayn eased down beside him.

Whenever Niall got a cuddle on the bus it was usually from Harry, so he was used to being positively smothered. It wasn’t uncommon for any of the boys to be dive-bombed by him if they were sat on the couch - all of his long limbs clung on like a baby octopus and nobody had the heart or desire to say no to his affection. Zayn, however, simply laid on his side and placed his head on Niall’s shoulder.

“If you’re gonna cuddle y’gotta do it right...” Niall teased, “s’real cramped in here, don’t want you fallin’ off.”

He used his leg to pull Zayn’s in closer, and took it upon himself to drape one of the boy’s arms across his own chest. That was the little push Zayn needed, and he immediately snuggled in. He wrapped a leg over Niall’s at the ankle and lightly grabbed at the side of the borrowed hoodie, as if he thought it would go unnoticed. He’d finally evened himself out, just an occasional hitch in his breath when he sniffed, a residual reflex from all the time spent crying. When Niall started twirling sections of Zayn’s blonde streak around his fingers, the boy nearly purred, the tension in his muscles melting away.

“Niall,” he echoed himself from earlier, but his voice was a bit stronger this time.

“Yeah?”

Zayn didn’t quite feel up to speaking, so he just tightened his hold on the hoodie as a nonverbal show of thanks. The gesture was understood; Niall bent his neck to the side, bumping their heads together lightly, before closing his eyes. Surely Harry would come find them when it was time to stop off for dinner, so they let themselves fall somewhere in between sleep and wakefulness - feeling nothing but warm and peaceful as the bus rumbled beneath them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> niall's quarantine hair looks so soft and i'm honestly really jealous! i just want to give him a little mini-braid.......i want nothing more


	10. we(a)k three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> out of all the boys, it just had to be poor, sweet harry that ended up voiceless and miserable only days before their third live performance. his saving grace was the pure force of four disgruntled teens unafraid to bully any adult blocking their path.

“Oops!”

“Fuck! Ah, got you all wet. Sorry, love.”

Louis slammed into Harry, placing a hand on his chest to steady himself. When Harry realized Louis was covered only by the towel slung low around his hips, it was as though every word he ever learned vanished from his brain.

“No, um, s'okay,” Harry cleared his throat, hoping he didn’t sound as flustered as he felt. “Was headed in for a shower anyway.”

“Oh, good.” Louis grinned. “How’re you on this fine, much too-early morning?”

“I’m, uh, I’m,” he cleared his throat again, this time not from his nervous energy but an actual need. He’d woken up feeling off, a little too sluggish considering the amount of sleep he gotten, but he figured a nice hot shower would fix him right up. “I’m great. Excited for the day.”

Louis’ smile widened and he removed the hand that was still on Harry’s chest to smack him lightly on the cheek.

“Happy to hear it, love. I’ll leave you to it.”

And so Harry was left standing in the doorway to the toilet, taking a moment to collect himself. Stepping in and shutting the door, he put a hand over his heart right on the spot that Louis’ had just vacated. He shook his head, brows furrowed - _don’t read into it, Harry, come on_ \- and glanced in the mirror.

His eyes were slightly dulled, hair more of a mess than usual, and there was a flush high on his cheeks, though he suspected that to be due to the ‘half-naked Louis’ encounter. There was a nasty bug making its way around the X Factor house, and it seemed to be taking people down left and right. The boys had been lucky enough to dodge it so far, but Harry’s stomach turned at the possibility that he might be the one to ruin their performance. He looked himself up and down and decided he was absolutely fine, or at least fine enough to get through the day.

There was a long day of rehearsals ahead, so he packed his bag full of snacks and water, sneaking a bottle of Panadol and some tissues in there just in case. On the drive to the soundstage the boys crammed themselves into the van, and Liam ended up practically in Harry’s lap.

“Gettin’ real friendly in here today, aren’t we?” he joked, stroking Harry’s chest and wiggling his eyebrows.

“Guess so.” Harry answered, mirroring Liam’s smile. Turning to look out the window gave him a little bit more space and the ability to scratch his nose in secret.

A few minutes into the drive, Louis got bored and started reaching back blindly from the seat ahead to try and jab at Harry. He mostly got Liam, which led to a slapping fight between the two, Zayn caught up in the middle. Their antics were always entertaining, but Harry worried that laughing too loud would turn his scratchy throat into something more, so he just smiled. Listening to their excitable voices gave him a bit of an energy boost, and by the time they were clamoring out the door he felt that maybe, _just maybe_ , he was actually better.

What a bold assumption that was.

As the day went on, Harry started to feel run down. When the boys were off to lunch he claimed he wasn’t hungry, only having a glass of water and a few chips stolen from Louis’ plate just to get something in his stomach. His voice didn’t start to show any signs of wear until the very end, but he could feel every word tearing at his throat. It was getting harder to be subtle about his runny nose, but Harry hoped more than anything that it was the worst of what he’d have to deal with.

At the end of the afternoon, they found themselves getting shooed off into the car again. Louis climbed in first and as Harry slid to the middle seat Liam accidentally shoved him over, forcing one of his legs to rest on top of Louis’ - he actually quite appreciated it as being sandwiched between the two felt nice and warm against Harry’s chilled body. The other four boys were having an animated conversation, much closer to yelling than talking, but Harry didn’t feel like joining in. As much as he didn’t want to draw attention to himself, he couldn’t help resting his head on Louis’ shoulder. The day was exhausting and he hoped he could subtly leech some body heat through their jackets. Louis stopped trying to talk over Niall and turned his head, lips just a hair away from Harry’s forehead.

“Alright, H?” Harry just whined softly in reply. “And that means…”

“Dunno. Don’t feel well, I guess.”

“Aw, love.” Louis reached across his lap to grab one of Harry’s hands, tracing its contours with his fingers. “S’goin’ on?”

“Dunno,” he repeated with a sniff. “Jus’ got a runny nose. Throat’s a bit sore, but it could be from singing. And it’s cold out, Lou, warm me up.”

Louis cooed quietly at Harry and rubbed the back of his neck - putting an arm all the way around him would bump Liam. The other boys still hadn’t noticed their absence from the conversation, and Louis knew Harry preferred to keep it that way. He offered to kick the others out for a bit - like when he had that migraine a few weeks previously - but Harry waved away the offer, saying he just needed to get under a fluffy blanket and relax.

—

Harry and Louis were the last to enter the flat, seeing as they had to untangle themselves from the far corner of the car. Once his coat was off, Harry felt a hand rest on the small of his back and his knees went weak.

“You’re feelin’ warm, H,” Louis murmured as he waited for Harry to finish unlacing his boots.

“Am I?”

“Yeah. Did you 'ave a fever this morning?”

“Don’t think so.”

Harry looked exponentially more tired when he straightened up, with his rounded shoulders and pouting lip, and Louis reached up to tuck a loose curl back in with the rest.

“Let’s go fix you up, hm?” Harry tried to resist, but gave in when Louis reached over and intertwined his pinky with Harry’s first finger. They made it just past the kitchen when they were noticed.

“Oi, Lewis, Harold,” Zayn called, and Louis halted, looking over his shoulder. His and Harry’s fingers broke apart, and his heart fell when Harry ignored Zayn and kept going without him.

“We’re headed off for a bit - can’t stand bein’ holed up all night 'nd we’re starving. D'you two wanna join?”

“Hm,” Louis looked behind him for Harry, but the boy was gone, “I’ll 'ave to pass, might give me mum a call.” Not knowing where Harry had gone off to, he lowered his voice. “And if ‘m honest, I’m kinda worried ‘bout H…felt like he was maybe runnin’ a fever.”

They all froze - with the performance fast approaching and their song nowhere near perfected, they couldn’t afford to be a man down, let alone two or three if any of them got knocked out too.

“You don’t think it’s the flu, do you? Like…what the others’ve got?”

Louis shrugged, and four sets of eyes shifted around nervously until Liam took the reins.

“Anyone have stuff that could help? Like, other than pain relief - I’ve got that.” Nobody responded. “Okay then. Real useful, aren’t we! What d’you think he’ll need? We can stop off somewhere after we eat.”

“I mean, he’s probably got the house plague, so jus' some kind of cold and flu shit?” When there was no dissent, Zayn continued. “Maybe a thermometer, box or two of throat coat. General things for, like, when you’re ill? I dunno.”

“Got it, ‘general things’. Very helpful, mate, thank you.” Niall mimed writing on a notepad until Zayn punched him on the arm.

“You sure you don’t wanna come with? We won’t be too long,” Liam assured him, but Louis declined.

“Eh, kinda feel like Harry might need m-, uh, _somebody_ 'round right now. But ’m fuckin’ starving too - could y’bring somethin' back for me? Harry too.”

“Yeah, 'course. Think we’re going to Nando’s, what’s your order?” Niall held up his invisible paper and pen again. Louis laughed and pulled out his wallet, handing over enough money to feed him and Harry both.

“Surprise me.”

—

Harry was slumped over on Louis’ bed, leaning up against the bedpost and focused on his phone; he looked up at the sound of the squeaky hinges and smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Hey, bed stealer. Wha'd’you think you’re doin’ down there?“

“’S comf’table, Lou,” he complained, “don’ make me get up.”

“Never would, love.” Louis slid a hand onto Harry’s forehead, confirming his suspicions. “Hm, yeah, you’re runnin' hot. Let’s jus' get some water in you for now - stay hydrated 'til the lads come back with medicine. Any requests?”

Harry groaned, lolling his head forward.

“ _Nooo,_ Louis, c’mon. Why’d they have t’know?”

“For a start, you look pretty shit. Not that you’re, uh, I mean…” Louis fumbled his words and fixed his hair to try to hide his blush, “I was jus’ gonna say they’d know when they see you - you’re all pale an' stuff.”

Harry mumbled something and Louis plopped down at his side, throwing his arms around Harry and resting his chin on his shoulder.

“You’ve really got a way with words today, love. Wanna translate that for me?”

“They’re going to make fun of me.”

“Now why would they do that?” Louis laid back, pulling Harry down with him, the boy landing against his chest with an _oof_.

“Dunno…'cause I’m the youngest.” Harry pouted, not helping cement his maturity. “Don’t want them to think ‘m a stupid kid.”

“I promise you nobody feels like tha'. They’re concerned for you ‘cos, believe it or not, we _actually_ like you, Styles,” he teased, stretching out one of Harry’s curls. “They’re your mates jus' the same as me,” he wilted inside when he acknowledged that he and Harry were nothing more than friends, “and they care ‘bout you too.”

“Yeah, you’re prob’ly right.”

“I’m _always_ right. Did y'want me to leave you be? Or I could stay an' talk if y’want some company.”

“Stay.” Harry answered quickly. “Sorry, um, I meant…could you stay, uh, please? Only if you, like, want to. But if, um, it's m-”

“Shut it, Curly. Jus' get yourself comfortable.”

They shuffled slightly so Louis could get an arm under Harry while the other loosely held one of his hands, playing absentmindedly with each other’s fingers while Louis told stories from back home. Harry melted deeper into his human pillow and with the hand curled around Louis’ waist, he rubbed his thumb back and forth sleepily.

Only a few calm minutes were shared like that - Harry drifting off to the sound of Louis’ voice, his thumb slowing to a near stop - before they were rudely interrupted. It was impossible to ignore the chaos from the front room and Louis’ stomach was starting to hurt with hunger, so he tapped gently on Harry’s temple.

“H, sweetheart? You awake?”

Harry nodded against Louis’ stomach.

“Sounds like the lads are back, you feel like eating?”

“Not hungry,” Harry grumbled, “but can try if y’want me to.”

“There’s a good lad.” When Harry didn’t move, Louis patted him on the back, laughing. “Get off me now, you little koala bear, let’s go.

Their kitchen counter was nearly covered with Nando’s bags. Niall and Zayn were already elbowing each other, trying to secure their share before the others had a chance to dive in.

“Buy the whole menu, did you?”

Zayn said something through a mouthful of chicken, gesturing toward the disaster, but Liam was a bit more helpful.

“Well you _did_ say to surprise you. And we put Niall in charge of giving the order, so...” He directed his attention to Harry. “Feelin’ alright, Haz?”

“Um, I’m uh,” his cheeks went pink as he looked over at Louis, seeking reassurance, “not at my best. Sorry.”

“Don’t have to be sorry.” Liam brushed it off, holding back his concern behind an encouraging smile. “We didn’t know what you two’d want. Got potatoes, chips, various chicken bits.”

Niall and Zayn had already monopolized the sofa, so the others chose spots on the carpet. Harry tried to sit against the far wall, not wanting to be too close in case he really was getting ill. Liam refused and tugged him over, saying he looked _pale and lonely, don’t be ridiculous_.

Harry wasn’t really paying attention to his mates - he just picked at the little bowl of rice Louis forced on him and ignored the worried glances he got every time he cleared his throat or pulled another tissue from the box they bought him. Half an hour and three spoonfuls of rice later, he tapped Liam on the shoulder.

“Think ‘m gonna head off to bed.” He coughed softly into the sleeve of his jumper looking more than a bit embarrassed, and Liam patted him on the thigh.

“Sounds good, mate. Did you take anything for that cough yet?” Harry shook his head. “Well, we picked up a bunch of stuff - there should be something in there that’ll cover you. It’s all next to the food, go have a look.”

“Thanks, Li.”

He grabbed the bag without bothering to check its contents and shuffled toward the hallway.

“Think ‘m gonna turn in early, 'm sorry. Feeling poorly.” he informed the boys, staring at his feet to avoid seeing their faces.

“Good idea, I’ll take you.” Harry tried to decline, insisting he could make it on his own, but Louis’ guiding hand on his shoulder made it clear that it wasn’t a suggestion. The other boys sent him off with their well-wishes.

“Thanks for the food, sorry for bein’ all sad ‘nd stuff. Night.”

While Harry made a trip to the toilet, clean pyjamas in hand, Louis sat anxiously awaiting his return while reading labels on the various syrups and pills. Harry tripped over his feet as he crossed the threshold to the bedroom but caught himself. When he got to their beds, he paused with a hand on the ladder to his top bunk, steeling himself for the climb. Louis cleared his throat, pointedly shifting his gaze down to his own bed before returning to Harry. The boy felt as though he could cry, but opted for hooking a finger around one of Louis’ and hoping it would get his appreciation across.

When he sat, a cool hand cupped his cheek. He leaned in hungrily, but Louis took it away. A displeased whine came from Harry when he was blocked from laying down - Louis held onto his shoulder, keeping him upright.

“No, _Louuu_ , m’head hurts. Lemme go t’sleep.”

“Can’t sleep ’til we get you settled, sickie. Time to check in on tha' fever.”

—

“How is he?” Niall looked over at Louis as he reappeared from the bedroom.

“Hm, hard to say. Temp’s not all too high, just 38.3. Seems proper exhausted though, set 'im up in me bed for the night so he wouldn’t 'ave to climb to his.” He ran a hand through his hair, messing up the remaining style he had left. “Maybe he’ll beat it before it takes hold.”

“Hope so. Now get over'ere, we were gonna play Mario Kart.” Zayn smacked Niall, forcing him to make room for Louis to scoot in beside them.

Liam made an indignant sound when he wasn’t invited up, but admittedly the sofa was too small. It seemed that he was placated by Zayn grabbing his shoulders and leaning him against his legs.

“So…are you gonna be his big spoon toni-“

“Who wants to be Waluigi!” Zayn exclaimed before Louis got a chance to take Liam’s bait.

—

Harry most definitely didn’t beat it, he woke up that next day fevered and congested, feeling quite ill. The boys had most of the morning free to make him comfortable while he croakily insisted that _‘it sounds worse than it is’._ They knew he was playing it down in an attempt to quell their worries, but it didn’t work, especially once Harry realized he would be stuck there alone. He hid away under the covers and refused to emerge, leaving them all powerless to stand around and listen to his labored, teary breaths.

By the afternoon, the four healthy lads were being herded out of their place by two members of the team. Harry heard the riot that his mates incited - some snippets reached him, though he couldn’t tell who was who as the door and his cloudy brain muffled the noise.

“a fever like tha'?” “he’s a minor” 

“only sixteen, an'” “won’t _die_ , Mr Malik” 

“ _fever_ , mate” “ _uses his throat_ to sing, idiot”

“Lou, back off” “our choice, boys”

He rolled onto his back to hear better and was able to catch more of the conversation.

“Listen,……s admirable how much you care abou……ndmate-“

“He’s not jus' our bandmate.” This voice rang far clearer, and the way Louis snarled at his adversaries made Harry’s head pound. “ _We’re_ not jus' bandmates. 'S more than tha'……think you can disrespect one of mine…”

Harry sucked in a nervous breath and burrowed himself in his - _Louis’_ \- duvet to block out the sound. He was drained physically and emotionally, and he didn’t think he could handle any more arguing - especially if it got even more heated.

Just a day ago he truly _had_ worried over nothing; Louis was right, since here he was - his friends yelling in the kitchen just so he wouldn’t have to sweat and cough by himself for the rest of the day. All he could do was curl up and hide from the world. He hated the stifling heat that built up under the blanket even after removing Liam's hoodie, but he didn’t want to come out from under it and see their beds, wishing they were still there with him.

Harry was so lost in thought that he didn’t hear the faint knock on the bedroom door.

“H?”

“Lou?”

“The one an' only.”

Harry uncovered himself and pushed up on his elbows; he just stared, wondering how high his fever must be for him to hallucinate so accurately. It was supposed to be hours before he saw a friendly face, and all the boys were long gone. 

“Where’d your shirt go?”

It was impressive how accurate the hallucination was - his roasting brain even got the smell of Louis' laundry soap right. But the boy was certifiably real, because the mattress dipped down where he sat on the edge of the bed. Harry kept staring, sleepy confusion written all over his face.

“I, uh…” He sneezed before he could say anything more, launching forward and nearly smacking his forehead into Louis.

“You know if y'keep doin’ that into your hands you’re gonna give us all the plague, right?”

“S’not like ‘m touching things,” he punctuated the sentence with a cough, also directed into his hand.

“Yeah, nothin' but me blankets an' pillow. And _me_ ,” he added as he shoved his way onto the bed. “D’you even know how germs work, Curly?”

“Don’ know, don’ care.” Louis could pick out the sass hidden behind his exhaustion and rolled his eyes.

“Get your clothes back on, you idiot, you’ll freeze to death.”

Harry grumbled about being too hot but obliged anyway, sloppily turning the arms right-side in.

“You’ll stay?” He was stuck inside the jumper, struggling to get his arms through the bunched up sleeves, but Louis looked on with a fond smile until the top of his head popped through.

“Not all day - sorry, love.” Louis tried in vain to fix the staticky mess of hair but ultimately gave up, shuffling his back up to the pillow and letting Harry get situated the way he’d done the night before. “We’re on 'Harry-Watch' - swappin’ out to keep you company. You’ll 'ave to be alone sometimes, but not for long, I promise - ’s the best we could do.”

Some life returned to Harry’s tired eyes, but Louis scolded him when he tried to speak. Instead, he draped one of his arms across Louis’ torso and snuggled into his shirt. Even without their skin touching, Louis could practically see the waves of heat that radiated off of him. _Who needs a blanket when there’s a Harry around_ , he thought, _wish I could do this every night…oh god this is_ really _not the time_. He considered getting up to grab the thermometer, but ultimately stayed - the way Harry desperately clung on screamed out his need for comfort, and Louis would be lying if he said his selfish desire for a Harry cuddle didn’t play a part in the decision.

—

Liam’s ‘shift’ had gone well, Harry napped through most of it, only waking up to take more medicine and have a glass of water that Liam coaxed him into finishing. After making him promise that he’d text if he needed anything, Liam left him alone knowing full well that the boy would be out cold the second he closed the front door.

Later in the afternoon, Zayn came back looking rather shaken up. He had the pleasure of informing the boys about Harry’s asthma, being the lucky one to find out first when Harry woke up unable to breathe, trying to wordlessly guide him to the inhaler buried deep in his bag. It scared the life out of him, but everything seemed to have been smooth sailing once they calmed each other down. Louis immediately took a step toward the door, but Zayn held out a hand.

“Relax, lovebird, Niall can handle it.”

Louis grumbled something along the lines of _not a lovebird_.

“Sure you’re not, you pining little lovebird, you.” Liam teased, grabbing him by the hood to stop him from following Niall.

After hearing Zayn’s story, Niall was a bit nervous to take over. What if Harry had another attack unsupervised? Would he have died or something? Trying to keep the intrusive scenarios out of his head, he pushed the door open. Walking in, he found Harry most definitely still alive and breathing, shivering under the covers.

“Hey, Haz.” Harry acknowledged him with a small cough, but didn’t open his eyes.

“You’re really not well, huh?” Crouching by the side of the bed, Niall felt his cheek; Harry buried his face into the pillow. If he were any less ill he would refuse the company of his friends, too shy to ask for help and too proud to accept it, but his brain was clouded and body weak enough to let those feelings take a back seat to his needs.

“First time ’m ill without mum,” he complained, “'nd I miss L-, um,” the flush already present on his face spread down to his chest and he hid partway behind the blanket.

“You miss Louis.” Niall grinned at Harry’s quiet _yeah_. “Nothin’ wrong with that.”

“I jus', um,” Harry’s arms shook as he pushed himself to sit slightly more upright, “it’s jus' that...I think, um, I kinda-”

“You kinda fancy Louis? Yeah, I know, mate. I can tell.”

Harry was caught off guard - his eyes went wide and his mouth hung open in surprise. He tried to gather his thoughts, but was interrupted when he pulled his hoodie up over his face to keep an unexpected sneeze out of the shared air. After collecting himself, he tugged it back down and pointed at his throat with a grimace, holding up a finger and rifling around in the blankets. He found a pad of paper and marker, and Niall sat patiently until Harry turned it around with trembling hands.

**_he’s a boy_ **

“Well spotted! What an observation - you’re unbelievable.” Harry’s laugh-cough didn’t take away the tension in his previously slumped shoulders or the wobble in the lines of his handwriting.

**_~~so you’re not~~_ ** **__**~~**_you don_ ** ~~ **__****_is it ok?_ **

“Yeah, ‘course it’s okay. What, did y'think I’d kick you out over it?” He rubbed Harry’s shoulder, “Y’know…I kissed a guy once. No, honest, I did! Okay, it _was_ on a dare, but I have to say he wasn’t the worst I’ve had.”

Harry visibly relaxed, but he was still shaking as he scratched out a response. Niall wasn’t sure whether it was from fever or anxiety - or both - but he reached over and tucked the blanket a little tighter around him regardless.

**_~~can~~_ _should_** **_i tell them i’m bi or is it a bad idea_ **

_“_ That’s up to you, mate. Not my choice to make, is it.” Niall twirled a curl around his finger. “Maybe wait ’til you’ve got that voice back though, right? Don’t worry your curly little head about it now, stressin' will only make you feel worse.”

Harry gave him the best smile he could manage and Niall patted the top of his sweaty hair. An unspoken agreement floated between them to keep the conversation private, and there was no doubt in his mind that when Niall left, he would keep it locked away.

—

That was Harry’s only day of bedrest. He felt better than before - less weak and sweaty, and whatever it was that made him so miserable hadn’t moved down to his chest, so there was still hope for a successful weekend. His voice made a tentative reappearance after a full day of being drowned in tea and his headache had calmed down, but by no means was he healed. Nobody seemed keen on sitting him out another day, but when his friends tried to argue his case Harry stepped in, not wanting to cause any problems or make a scene.

Not only was it physically difficult to sing with a battered throat, but it was even harder to keep the pace through his fever fog. Tempo issues and frequent stops meant they couldn’t lock together - they’d be lying if they said it wasn’t mostly Harry’s fault, but they couldn’t be upset with him for trying his best. When he was healthy he was attentive during rehearsals, but as the minutes ticked on he grew unsettled - between his aching body and boiling brain, the four boys couldn’t blame him for being spacey and acting a little immature.

It was hard enough to get his voice to sound in the first place, let alone make it through a quarter of the song without his symptoms stopping him. Harry’s eyes shone with frustrated tears and he refused to look at anyone for fear of letting them slip. Halfway through one of their better runs, he sat cross-legged on the floor and continued to sing from there. Liam quickly noticed and stood behind him, letting him lean back gently against his legs and fluffing the hair at the crown of his head.

The boys’ collective band heart broke as they watched their poor Harry spend the whole rest of the day getting carted around from place to boring place. By lunch, the weak voice he’d been forced to abuse was gone again, and the way he fidgeted with the hem of his shirt told them loud and clear that he was starting to freak the hell out. They reassured him that everything would be alright, gave him bottomless cups of tea, and kept on top of his medicines. Niall was quite proud of the little sign he had printed off and stuck to Harry’s coat:

-———————————-------

| I’M ON VOCAL REST! |

|CAN’T SPEAK|

| | 

| THANK YOU |

———————————--------

They did what they could for Harry when an opportunity arose: giving him the comfy van seat - where, coincidentally, he could curl up into Louis - and had fun passing him around for piggyback rides. Though he initially rolled his eyes at the idea, he grew to appreciate it. He had just enough energy to do the bare minimum, so not having to walk meant he could stay awake to listen to their coaches and being smushed against someone’s back meant he could steal their warmth for a few minutes.

Despite all the worries and uncertainty, Harry pulled through for the weekend. Come Friday night he sounded almost like ‘Harry’ again, but they still forbade him from talking just in case. He was well enough that his cheeks glowed red while they looked after him, but his friends came together as an unstoppable force of support that he couldn’t escape even if he wanted to.

Everyone looked at Harry as they circled up, ready to take their places on stage - pale, jumpy, and absentmindedly holding his stomach - and they sighed with relief. Though he didn’t look well, it was different: _this_ was the fidgety, nauseous, endearingly nervous pre-show Harry that they knew. His voice, though shaky, was strong when he addressed them.

“Let’s do this.”

—

“Hi, we’re One Direction, and this is our video diary week three.”

The boys found themselves sat on the stairs again with the familiar camera staring them down. Louis had put up a bit of a fight before they started, insisting he sit in the front because _I’ve never been down there before_ , which really translated into _I’ve never sat by Harry_. They were all in high spirits, even Harry who, despite still feeling the effects of the last few days, managed to join them. Knowing he wouldn’t be up for too much, the others took charge.

“Harry got ill halfway through the week. It was just a bit of a shock and our rehearsal went really bad, so we’ve all been kinda nervous this week.”

Louis wasn’t exactly pleased with Liam’s phrasing - maybe he was being too sensitive, maybe it was because the two of them were always butting heads, but it seemed to him like Harry was being blamed for their struggles. Knowing how shy the boy was about his health even when it came to the lads, Louis guessed he wouldn’t be too keen on bringing it up to the entire internet. For Harry’s sake, he wanted to close the book on the topic as soon as possible. It took a moment, but Louis came up with a way to both distract from the seriousness _and_ be touchy-feely with him for everyone to see.

“I think he’s got a temperature now.” He pushed Harry’s fringe up to slide a hand on his forehead. Niall laughed as Harry’s eyes widened, giving the camera the same exasperated face he’d been making at his mates for the last day and a half.

Once they said their goodbyes, Harry thanked them for all they did to help him out those painful couple of days; when he tried to say more, he was cut off by Liam, Niall, and Zayn’s mostly unintelligible mixture of genuine responses and playful bullying, which led to a passionate argument about something Harry couldn’t be bothered to care about. Uncharacteristically, Louis said nothing. Harry turned and saw Louis staring directly at him. His stomach fluttered at the fond smile and, if he wasn’t mistaken, the way those eyes flickered down to his lips and back up again.

“Any time, H. Any time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so so sorry for the update gap :( i've been going crazy with all of my classwork and trying to clean my shamefully messy bedroom and write and ugh...it's a lot! but i'll try my best to get something out every week, this one was just way too long so it took forever lol oops!! hope everyone has a good week <3<3


	11. shirtless, shoeless, and scarlet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an exhausted liam wished he could feel more alert on stage, but activating the entire band's fight or flight responses wasn't exactly what he meant...
> 
> cw: blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all non-graphic descriptions of blood/hand injury/stitches, so if any of that imagery would be upsetting or triggering for you, feel free to sit this one out and i _promise _i'll have something completely different very soon! look after yourself <3__

It was hard for Liam to keep up with the other boys’ energy when he was running on empty. Traveling to the fifth country of the week, waking early to be dolled up for press appearances, and jumping around a stage for ninety minutes a night weren’t close to half of the tasks on their daily to-do list. Being kept awake for such long, draining days wiped their body clocks of any consistency. It was to the point that the boys often had trouble sleeping through the night at all. They could always be found serving as each other’s pillows at the strangest moments, latching on to any rest they could get, no matter where or when.

They grew to cherish bus nights, as there they couldn’t be stolen away from bed at three in the morning to work in makeshift studio spaces. With the slight bumping of the road and constant rustling of sheets as they all tossed and turned it was definitely not the best sleep they ever got, but at least it was dark, comfortable, and certifiably private.

It wasn’t just the physical wakefulness that sucked the energy from them. The level of emotional and social energy they were required to keep up did just as much damage. Interacting with the crowd was the best part of a show, but it was a bit different after they stepped off stage. Quite a few enthusiastic people could be found outside the venue to catch a glimpse of them with their sweaty shirts and messy hair. As much as they truly loved seeing their fans, there were nights where the adrenaline crash made it hard enough to climb up the stairs let alone put on a happy mask and hold a conversation or two. Liam was suffering through one of those nights.

For the third night in a row.

It was difficult to hide his exhaustion when he was that far gone, but it’s not as though he had tried particularly hard. The second he left any professional situation, he dropped from **Liam Payne** to weary, quiet _Liam_ \- just a boy who needed a break. A boy who needed a break so very badly but still gave his all for the sake of everyone else.

And that’s how he came to trip over his water.

Between the roar of the crowd and the pre-show chaos, Liam had hyped himself up, shaking off the fatigue and matching the energy of his bandmates. The first hour was a breeze. It was only during one of Harry’s tangents that the feeling hit him again. His shoulders started to ache and he felt the need to squint against the lights, which seemed a notch brighter than they did while he had been moving.

There were only a few songs left and he had pushed through much worse before, so he downed his water and dove back in. The opening notes of What Makes You Beautiful clicked through his in-ears and Liam didn’t think he’d ever been more excited to hear that damn song in his life. With the number of times they’d performed the song, singing it was like an unconscious reflex. Liam went on autopilot while he interacted with the crowd, and he wasn’t paying enough attention to avoid tripping on the water bottle he dropped carelessly on the ground. He caught himself by grabbing hold of a mic stand, but the second he did he wished he’d just let himself fall.

His vision went white - he wasn’t completely sure what happened, but he knew whatever was causing his hand such intense pain wasn’t likely to look crowd-friendly. Thankful that his back was to the cameras, he balled it into a fist, the pressure holding back a bit of the pain, and shoved it in his pocket. There was no doubt in his mind that he was bleeding, but they were almost done, so he set the feeling aside.

Liam made it off without missing a single cue or causing a scene, but once the show was over, he couldn’t just ignore the problem. There weren’t any crew members around - the boys always requested some privacy for the first few minutes post-show - so the only thing he could do was follow the lads and work up the words to get one of their attention.

“Payno, lad,” Louis called out, looking behind him for Liam. He was just a few steps behind, but his face was white as a sheet. Tripping a little as he walked, he kept staring straight at the ground, brow deeply furrowed.

“Oi, Liam. Wha’s wrong?” When Louis stopped in his tracks, Harry yelped as he was yanked backwards - with their hands connected, the sudden stop rocked him out of step. Louis snapped in front of Liam’s face, trying to get him to lift his head. “Seriously, mate.”

Liam took his hands out of his pockets and tried to explain, but he stumbled hard with the movement, launching himself sideways. Harry had joined them and was in the perfect position to catch him, but when they got Liam back on his feet, the spot where his hand landed left a warm, red stain on Harry’s shirt.

“What the fu- _Liam_ ,”

Zayn and Niall, alerted by Louis’ raised voice, ran back - they each got a hand on Liam and guided him to the floor before he could fall there on his own, moving slightly over to a better lit spot before setting him all the way down. They bombarded him with questions, scanning him up and down, but he just lifted his arm in response.

Pure red coated his hand and trickled down his left arm.

“Oh fuck, that’s blood. That’s a lot of blood, oh shit,” Zayn panicked, “Li, I- fuck…Louis?”

He whipped around to Louis - as the eldest member, Louis had often taken the lead when the group first started out, usually the one chosen to be the voice of the boys. Even as they got older he always seemed to end up leading the charge when under pressure. This time however, Louis looked back completely panicked as he held both of Harry’s hands, trying to keep both himself and his bloodied boyfriend calm. Frozen on the spot, Harry was staring down at the mark on his shirt with a gaping mouth. From over his shoulder, Louis spared only a few seconds to take in the situation.

“’S it his arm?”

“Hand,” Niall yelled over his shoulder as he sprinted around the corner while Zayn took off his shirt to press against the cut.

“Keep pressure on it. Mum told me hands always bleed loads, so ’s prob’ly not tha’ deep. Might look worse than it is- sorry, boys I- I gotta,” he turned his attention back to Harry whose eyes were closed, not even acknowledging when Louis cupped his cheek and tried to get his attention.

“Right, oh god, okay, um,” Zayn tapped a hand on Liam’s face, “Li, you’re still with me, yeah?”

The boy nodded, a faraway look in his eyes the moment they opened. Liam’s face paled further when he saw the drastic change in color of the fabric pressed against his hand, so Zayn guided his head between his knees, _if y’look it’s only gonna be worse, jus’ breathe._ It seemed Niall found the right people; he came sprinting back, followed by someone from their security detail and two on-site paramedics. The women worked quickly, taking over for Zayn who immediately went to Liam’s other side. They echoed Louis’ statement when they got a good look at the gash. The two of them were able to clean and stitch him up on-site, draping their sterile paper over a folding chair to serve as a makeshift table.

Zayn slid Liam’s good hand into one of his own, feeling him squeeze particularly hard when he was given the numbing injections, and Niall had a firm, steadying grip on his shoulder. Curious about what it was he had been clutching for dear life, Zayn snuck a peek at the hand - when he saw their progress, the room around him whirled and he was dangerously close to fainting. Seeing Zayn press his forehead to Liam’s shoulder with a deep breath, Niall shifted to better support them both, a hand on each of his pale-faced friends and expression of deep concern on his face as he looked back and forth between them.

It didn’t take long to get him sorted, but to the three boys it felt like a lifetime.

“All set, Liam. Make sure you rest, stay hydrated, have a nice big dinner. I bet you’re more than a little shaken up,” she shifted her attention from him to the others: a pallid and half-clothed Zayn with Liam tucked under his arm, Niall looking somehow terrified and blank at once, and the sudden absence of Harry and Louis, “looks like y’all are, too. So you guys go find something real good for dinner, watch some t.v. or something, just chill out. Sound good?” She put a hand on Liam’s knee. “Good job, dude. Keep that hand dry for 24 hours, alright? _Hey, we’re gonna need bio cleanup, stage left wing._ ”

Sipping at their waters, they maintained their silence, listening to the bustling of people around them. Zayn squatted back on his heels but Niall needed to stand, hands clasped behind his neck as he looked them up and down. They really were a sight to see. The entire left half of Liam’s clothes hadn’t been safe from the disaster. Zayn, having held the shirt to Liam with staying clean not being one of the top priorities in the moment, looked as though he had been finger-painting, using his arms and chest as the canvas.

They were given wipes and flannels to give themselves a basic cleaning, Niall handling most of Liam’s cleanup since all he had to do for himself was swipe at his trainers a few times. Zayn’s balled-up shirt went into a bag, as he was nowhere near attached enough to attempt salvaging it. Half of Liam’s jacket was totaled, but he’d throw it away on the bus, feeling too shaky to go into the spring evening without it.

The boys’ feet were left in nothing but their socks when they threw their shoes in a plastic grocery bag to avoid tracking anything around before they could properly clean the soles. A sweet young stage runner offered to find something new for them, but they politely declined. It wasn’t a far walk to the buses, so they could make the trip shoeless.

Once the floor and the boys were cleaned up, they asked the crowd buzzing around them for some space to collect themselves. Niall plopped down on Liam’s left side, letting the bandaged hand rest up against his knee. Zayn mirrored him on the right, and he returned a comforting, now blood-free hand to hold Liam’s in his lap.

“‘M really sorry.”

“Fuckin’ hell, mate,” Niall reached over to rest his hand on top of Zayn and Liam’s clasped ones, wanting to join in the gesture of support, “what happened?”

“Like I told her. Somethin’ wonky on th’ mic stand. Whacked it, felt m’hand stingin’ but didn’ want t’look. Fist in m’pocket for last song, now…here.” He was still a bit out of it and recounting the story made him nauseous, but it didn’t last.

“Li,” Zayn looked heartbroken, “y’didn’t ‘ave to, no- you _shouldn’t ‘ave_ waited. Could’ve been loads worse. Always puttin’ yourself last, you idiot.”

“Yeah, yeah. Too late now.” He flopped his head onto Zayn’s shoulder, not deterred by the lack of shirt. “Wanna go back to the bus. ‘M embarrassed.”

“ _You’re_ embarrassed? Mate, ’ve been sat here full on topless covered with your hand blood for, what, an hour? Aw, don’ look so tragic, it was a joke…mostly. I wanna go too, you think you can handle it?”

“Think ‘m alright.”

“You want us to lift you?” Liam shook his head, but Niall didn’t look convinced.

“No, ‘m fine…jus’ shocked. If y’could, maybe stay close just in case? Where’s Harry ‘nd Lou?”

“Who knows - last we saw, Harry was practically catatonic. Dunno when they left, actually.”

It didn’t take all too long to find the couple. They were sat on the curb outside the back door - Harry had his arms set across his bent knees, smushing his cheek into his sleeve. They spoke quietly to each other, and the trio felt bad for disrupting their smiley little moment. At the sound of the door, Louis looked over and spotted them. The back of Harry’s head was faced their way though, and they saw Louis lean down to brush a hair behind his boyfriend's ear and speak quietly, but his voice carried to them.

“Look, darling, I told you he’d be fine, yeah? He’s alright, we’re alright.”

Harry looked up when they came into his field of vision, and with a pat on the back he got up to properly join the group. He stretched as he stood, and when his chest bowed out, Liam saw the fuzzy but unmistakable outline of fingers in stark contrast against the white fabric.

“Oh, god, uh…I’m so, so sorry, Haz, I didn’t even know that happened.”

He waved a hand and shook his head as if to say _no big deal_ , and it seemed Harry thought Liam knew nothing about the apparent emotional turmoil he just caused. There was no mention of it when Harry responded.

“Your hand alright?”

“Yeah, they stitched me up - easy fix.”

He lifted his arm carefully, showing the white bandage that wrapped around and down a bit of his wrist. He wiggled his fingers slightly. “It’s all still here. I’m real sorry, mate, I didn’t even know I fell into you ’til…now.” He stared again at the handprint on Harry’s stomach, feeling more than guilty.

“Can I, uh, see it? I mean like, later…I kinda want to see how gross it is.” Liam thought Harry was joking, but his face, although playful, showed that he was dead serious.

“I mean…whatever you want, mate,” he laughed. When Harry offered a hug, Liam wrapped his good arm around him.

“Don’t worry, it’s all dry.” Harry said in reference to his t-shirt.

“You act like I wasn’t just swimming in it, mate. Really am sorry, though. Knowing you, that shirt was probably eighty-five million dollars, so…I’ll get you somethin’ new if y’want.”

“Nah, it’s alright, love. Besides, I wager this one would sell for _ninety_ million dollars online. ‘Custom Shirt - Genuine Liam Payne Blood (featuring Harry sweat)’.”

“Oh yeah? It’ll look great next to the listing for ‘Harry Styles’ sick (featuring roadside debris)’.”

“No, gross, don’t remind me,” Harry cringed at the memory. “That was just too far.”

"Can’t we just go already? Nobody cares about your disgusting bodily fluids.” Niall interjected. “Liam looks straight out a horror film and I swear to god if I don’t get somethin’ to eat…”

And with that the five boys made their way across the massive car park looking like a real group of idiots - three were missing shoes, one was topless, two stopped walking partway there so they could start up a piggyback ride, all subtly swerving as they made their exhausted way back to clamor on to their bus, on to the next city (and hopefully a 24-hour McDonald’s).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i finally updated! so sorry for the gap - i've been polishing three different chapters and can't get any of them quite right, but i settled for this one! <3 and i posted another fic! it's for sure the fluffiest larry i've ever written. anyway, happy sunday (or whatever day it is for you!), take a minute to do something nice for yourself today, no matter how small. you deserve it! x

**Author's Note:**

> making this 25 chapters is probably the boldest move i've made in my entire life


End file.
